A Pound for a Pound
by Apocalyptic Lore
Summary: Sequel to "Happily Merry, Merrily Happy". Arthur has a proposition for Alfred, and it seems that neither are going to enjoy it. USxUK, Finally Complete!
1. Vengeful Thinking

A/N: The first chapter of the sequel to HMMH has been uploaded! Huzzah!

First of all, I would like to apologize if this sequel is lacking. To be honest, though I've written little stories since I was a mere five years old, I don't believe I have ever made a sequel, let alone completed one. Clearly, I am an amateur, at best, so correct me on any mistakes, and feel free to make suggestions!

Second of all, for those of you coming into this FF without any knowledge of the first, I would recommend that you go back and read "Happily Merry, Merrily Happy" before continuing with this story. While it is not necessary, it may assist your understanding of certain events or mentionables.

Without further ado, I present to you "A Pound for a Pound". Enjoy and Review.

* * *

**January 1st**

**New Year's Day**

**11:03 p.m.**

Mistake #1: Alfred F. Jones had accused him of being predictable.

This alone unnerved Arthur Kirkland to no end. Another pointless, unproductive World Conference had been held just hours previous, and within that miniscule amount of time, the American had managed to top his "to torment" list. As mentioned earlier, Alfred had blatantly stated, "I expected you to say something like that". Alright, so most beings wouldn't bother wasting their thoughts on such a controversial, seemingly-harmless topic. Well... Arthur most certainly was not "most beings", regarding the many obvious facts about his personality, his eyebrows, and his lack of patience with others such as America. The details of the conversation remained a haze in his memories, though he could distinctly recall them talking about an incredibly… touchy subject. As he had predicted, Alfred had brought up the _incident_ that had occurred a mere four days ago, taking advantage of the hectic, noisy room. Arthur had stated plainly that_ nothing_ had happened between them, and nothing ever would again. Then Alfred had let it slip; that he had expected such a reply from the bushy-browed Briton. Arthur had stormed off, appalled, and stood where he did currently.

He positioned himself in a crevice between two bookshelves in his cellar, various magic books scattered throughout the room in a messy array. His emerald eyes appeared almost crazed, and his short blonde hair was disheveled and sticking out on one side. Indeed, he had been at this plotting for hours, ever since his arrival back home from the meeting. However, one slight detail still had him puzzled and indecisive; how should he get back at Alfred? There were many possible ways; he could prank him, curse him, perform voodoo on him… the possibilities were vast, the only conflict coming from within the Englishman himself. While all of these forms of torture seemed plenty severe, they just weren't _enough_ for Arthur. First, the younger nation had invited himself over to the Brit's house, and then the oven had deep-fried his house (well done like a steak). Following those events, Alfred had made his Christmas a living Hell, from knocking a Christmas tree over on top of him to feeding him alcohol-induced eggnog. _I mean, really, who drinks something if the seal is broken… especially from Francis? The daft fool…_ Lastly, Alfred had given him reason to… erm, feel rather possessed and do something unmentionable to him. Now, he had been accused of predictability, and Alfred was sure to pay greatly.

_But how? Admittedly, all of my little mishaps have occurred over special occasions or means of celebrating._ He clutched his forehead in his hand, gritting his teeth. _I mean, it's as if he's out to get me or something. Does the idiot have it in for me, perhaps? I doubt he's capable of actually disliking somebody. Each and every holiday is the same; a gift or a card is sent, and at times he even comes for a visit, but it usually just ends in disaster…_

A little gasp sounded beside him, and the Briton lowered his head to find a little fairy-like creature sitting upon his shoulder. Her wings folded over casually as she leaned forward, cautious not to fall off of him, and whispered something in his ear. Arthur's green eyes regained their old, lively shimmer as his face twisted into a smirk. "That's it!" He thanked his diminutive companion and rushed up the stairs into the kitchen, grabbing a few miscellaneous books from the cabinet above the stove. Each little detail played like a broken record in his mind as he revisited each possibility and assured himself of their foolproof value. At last, things were beginning to turn up for the Briton. Maybe this would turn out to be a better year after all.

However, can things ever _really_ go as planned when referring to him?

This was Alfred F. Jones he was plotting against, after all. Inexplicable to any, he always managed to pull through to victory in the end. Was it dumb luck, or perhaps a knowledge bound by secrecy? None will ever know.

None of these negative thoughts crossed his mind as he flung open one final book, the picture of a banana on the front.

********

"A-Alfred?" A small, quiet voice penetrated the barrier of the wooden door, separating the inside of the estate to the outside world. In the doorway stood Matthew Williams, dressed in a casual uniform with his blond hair slightly frizzed from the chilly January atmosphere. "Are you home?"

"Comin', Matthew, jus' a sec!" came the muffled reply. The Canadian lad released a stifled yawn, rubbing his slumberous violet eyes. Truth be told, he and Alfred were all but identical outwardly, differing mostly in hair length and the _slightly_ slimmer build of Canada. Personalities prove to triumph over all, however, and this proves the distinction between the two; Matthew was a quiet, mild-speaking nation, often forgotten or ignored in the various controversial international conversations, while Alfred was… well, Alfred.

The door swung open with such a force that poor Matthew stumbled backwards, arms flying up defensively. "W-Whoa, Alfred, please!"

"Sorry," he said, grinning. "Well, come on in, then."

The Canadian nodded slowly, making his way lethargically into the living room and collapsing over the armrest of the sofa. A soft snoring erupted from his direction, and Alfred couldn't help but raise a questioning eyebrow. "Um… make yourself comfortable, I guess…"

A few hours passed before the guest awoke, and found himself sitting beside his brother on the couch. A cup of coffee snuggled in his gloved hands; Matthew took a sip, gulping it all down in a single swig. Alfred allowed his widening gaze to drift downward, resting upon his guest's trembling hands. Indeed, the man was shaking from head to toe in a full-out tremor, clearly unnerved about something. Of course, this was Matthew; no one really knew much about him to begin with, even Alfred… _even Francis, who _raised_ him, for crying out loud!_ "Um, Mathew, is something bothering you?"

The Canadian flinched at the voice, tearing his blank stare away from the wall. "Er…" A soft sigh escaped his lips. "I… I was given a resolution by Francis… he wants me to become more outgoing, if even by a little!" He spoke swiftly and barely audibly. "But, I mean, I haven't the slightest idea about such things! I mean… I just…" He clutched a pillow to his chest. "Listen to me, I can't even get to the point with you! I guess… what I'm trying to say… er…"

"Just quit trying, Mattie," he interrupted. "You expected me to help you become more sociable, correct?"

"Y-Yes…" His amethyst gaze flared. "I swear, Alfred, if you can manage to get me social enough by the end of the year, I will pay you back! You can have- virtually- whatever you want…" Another yawn slipped past his drying lips. "I got so worried and worked up about it that… well, you know."

"You… couldn't sleep?"

"No, not really."

Alfred let out an echoing chuckle, patting Matthew roughly on the shoulder. "Of course I'll assist you! After all, a hero must save a damsel in distress every once in a while, it's good for the soul!" He shot him a thumbs up, grinning brightly.

Matthew, as much as he disproved of the damsel in distress role, smiled softly in return. "Thank you." His face fell instantly. "Oh, that reminds me, Francis told me to warn you about something… now, what was it again? Something about England…"

The phone began to resonate on the end table, and Alfred reached over his brother to answer it. "Hello?"

A low, unfamiliar voice sounded. "Hello. Do not ask who I am. You are to meet me at-"

"What do you want, Arthur?"

A brief silence on the other end. "Damn, how'd you-"

"Caller ID."

"Oh… right… whatever. Meet me at my estate on the fifth. Don't be late, and don't come too early, like last time." The phone on the other end hung up, and Alfred did the same with his.

The American turned to his guest. "It seems as though Iggy wants to meet up. What was it you were saying again?"

"I don't even remember… something about Arthur, so just… erm, be careful? I guess?" Matthew leaned the back of his head against the soft couch fabric and instantaneously fell back into a deep slumber. Alfred blinked once, twice, before prying the hot coffee mug from his brother's hands. The last thing he needed was for the quiet boy to burn his hands while sleeping.

All the same, he couldn't help but anticipate the whatever-it-was that Arthur had in store for him this time.

*********

Arthur smirked a devilish smirk, adjusting his magic cloak around his shoulders. _Come and get it, you bloody idiot. Your luck ends on the Twelfth Day._

* * *

A/N: For those of you who didn't know, the Twelfth Day is a "holiday" in the UK in which the Christmas decorations are removed, and it was once thought (and still is a bit) to bring bad luck if they were kept up past this date. It seemed appropriate for the events going on.

I know this was short, but I rewrote this chapter at least four times before I was even remotely satisfied. This story will not update quite as often as the other, but I hope you will continue regardless.


	2. The Proposition

A/N: Ack, short again. Forgive me, please. As proven in my other FF's, my first few chapters are always short, with the meatier plots with longer situations in the middle somewhere. I'm getting' there.

A few days early, to get the storyline going. Enjoy.

* * *

**January 5****th**

**Twelfth Day**

**9:54 a.m.**

"J-Jeez, Alfred," Matthew commented, letting loose a soft whistle. The American stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, readjusting his crimson tie. He was clad in a formal black suit, a sheik and smooth fabric coating the clothing with a shimmering beauty. "I thought you were suffering from an economical crisis…" _That must have cost a fortune…_

"It's not new, and it was on sale," he stated blatantly, wiping his sleepy blue eyes with the back of his wrist and releasing the slightest yawn. "I had the hardest time falling asleep last night… I kept getting this feeling in my gut that something was going to happen." He turned back to his brother, shooting him a trademark thumbs-up. "So, how do I look?"

"E-Erm… fine, but, well… your-"

"Rule number one to being sociable: don't beat around the bush."

"Your hair…"

"Hmm…?" The American directed his gaze back at the mirror. "It looks fine to-" His voice cracked and his eyes widened as he slightly shifted the position of his head, staring horror-stricken at a dark shade of brown blotching his blonde hair in the back. Reluctantly, he reached his hand back to touch it, and found his fingers all but sticking to the spot. Indeed, his hair now stuck out in an awkward way, and was incredibly coarse and pasty. "Oh no… I could have sworn I threw that soda away last night!"

_You drank soda before going to bed? No wonder you were up all night…_ Matthew shook his head. "Y-You'll be late… there's no time to shower. Just dab it with a washcloth in the car."

"Right… well, then, I'll leave the house in your hands; make this your first act of repaying me. Don't burn it to the ground." Alfred's face brightened instantaneously as he snatched a moistened towel from the dresser and headed out the door, soaking the glued area of his head.

_Why would I burn down the…? Oh well._ Matthew shrugged, taking a step towards the hallway as he heard the front door close shut. A shimmering glare struck his vision, blinding him momentarily. The Canadian raised his hand up to block the agonizing rays, squinting at what the sun had reflected itself off of. _Oh, great… he left his glasses…_ America had been acting rather peculiar since Arthur had first called four days previous. Matthew couldn't help but wonder if, perhaps, something had occurred between the two of them to make Alfred act so flustered and distracted. I mean, this was _Alfred _he was speaking of; America was naturally lucky and well-prepared. Something pretty drastic would've had to have happened between the two nations…

_Ah well, might as well not get involved. As long as I stay out of things, nothing will be expected of me, right?_ His stomach gave a prompt complaint, grumbling lowly. _Wonder where he keeps the maple syrup…?_

The man strolled by the kitchen, ignorant of yet another of America's mishaps; Alfred had left out a single branch of holly, still hanging loosely on the banister from Christmas.

********

_What's gotten into me, lately?_ Alfred wondered, opening the wooden door to England's abode with a gloved hand. His other hand clutched desperately to a cheeseburger, his teeth gnawing at the buns in anxiety. _I mean, it's just Iggy! Why do I keep getting this rotten feeling in my gut? Nothing has changed in the past weeks… er, I mean, we _did_ spend Christmas together, and then he, well, kissed me… could that be it? I'm getting worked up because I'm afraid of him doing something like that again?_

_Or perhaps I fear him _not _doing it again?_ Alfred released a crude chuckle, exploring the halls until he came across England's office. _No, no… that's absurd… absolutely ridiculous…_

"Ah, Alfred, welcome back." England swiveled around in his desk chair, facing the American with a sinister smirk on his face. "Please, sit. Make yourself at home. As you can see, the renovations went as planned." He arrogantly sipped a piping hot cup of Earl Grey, eyes fixed on Alfred all the while.

_Something's not right… Old Iggy's never this cheerful…_ Alfred returned the grin, however, and took his place across from his host. "So… what did you want to talk about?"

"Lovely day, is it not? And the Twelfth Day, at that…" His emerald eyes narrowed. "Tell me, Alfred, did you remember to put away all of your decorations?"

"O-Of course I did. I took them down yesterday." He stuffed his mouth with a bite of burger. Stammering, too? Perhaps Matthew was beginning to rub off on him… Though, admittedly, he could feel his skin prickling with inexplicable anxiety and his hands began to shake. _Alright, Arthur, let's see what's on your mind…_

"Good for you, good for you…" Arthur continued to smirk, a rather uncharacteristic expression plastered on his face. It seemed his plot was raveling out smashingly. He found Alfred's disheveled appearance amusing; the cola-soaked hair, the crooked scarlet tie… he felt compelled to stifle back a snicker, as it was the gentlemanly thing to do, though couldn't stop smiling. "Oh, yes, what's-his-name is staying with you, right? For how long?"

"Matthew? He should be sticking around for another week, but he'll be visiting from time to time again until I can help him to my potential…" And through all of this awkwardness, America retained his resonating smile, faltering only once in a slight, grimacing twitch.

"I see. That's nice of him. For what reason, might I ask?" Another gulp of tea slid past his tongue and down his throat. Alfred watched his lips move tantalizingly over the brim of the cup, Arthur's Adam's apple flinching slightly at the steaming swallow of tea. His own mouth went dry, all moisture dissipated from his mouth, and he felt his hands becoming clammy.

"W-Well…" Alfred cleared his throat, smiling again. "He's learning to become more outgoing. He very well may be a lost cause, though. But how about you England?" He rose slightly. "Have you any resolution for this upcoming year?"

"I do have… one, but…" Arthur set down the china cup gently, standing as well. "It involves you, actually."

"Gonna plant one on me again?"

Arthur's face reddened, and his smirk fell for a brief second, returning mere moments later. "No, actually, I had something else in mind…" He approached his guest, propelling his left arm forward to grasp Alfred's wrist, capturing both him and the cheeseburger clutched in his hand.

"W-What are you doing? Was that tea spiked? Are you drunk? You've lost your mind, then!" Alfred's smile fell, his blurred oceanic gaze meeting Arthur's emerald eyes, a victorious gleam dancing in their depths. "Arthur! S-Stop! You don't want-"

The Briton took his free hand and pried the burger from Alfred's fingers, releasing his hold on the younger nation's wrist. "Got it!" Arthur took a step toward the waste bin beside his desk, his smirk twisting into that of a madman.

"No, Iggy, don't! I know what you're thinking, but-" It was as if the burger were a poor civilian, helpless as the hero plummeted right into the palms of the arch-nemesis. Panic-stricken, Alfred watched as his brunch was released from Arthur's slender fingers and crashed defenselessly into the trash can. America grimaced, turning his foggy vision back to his host, whose psychotic grin bore into his own, rare scowl. "Okay, Arthur, what's going on?"

"Why, my new year's resolution, of course. Francis actually inspired me to do something… I know, it's incredibly unbelievable- "

"Wow, you_ copied_ the frog?"

"Oh, shut up, you blooming idiot." He neared his guest, fingers clenched menacingly into fists. "I merely improvised upon his ideas. Matthew is never going to tolerate your trials, you know."

"What does Matthew have to do with-"

"I'm getting there, have patience. The Canadian had a resolution forced upon him as a hope for his nation; Francis wants the man to become more outgoing, more well-known… more involved. Well, it just so happens that I have a plan in mind for you as well."

"And this has to do with my burger because…?"

Arthur jabbed a finger at his former colony, his eyes darkening and his grin only broadening. "Because, Alfred, there's something about _you_ that I'd like to change as well." He left out the little information about it being a plot for revenge.

"I-Iggy, listen, wait! What's with the sudden concern for my well-being?"

"I never said it would improve your well-being. I couldn't care less." The Englishman poked at the American's gut.

"You, Alfred F. Jones, are going on a diet. And I have just become your personal instructor."

* * *

A/N: Oh, God, Arthur. Do you have the slightest idea what you just got yourself into?

I bet most of you out there were expecting something different to happen when Arthur grabbed Alfred's wrist, you oh-so-innocent readers. I know, I could've made it seductive, but that's not the point of this fic (at least, not so early on in the relationship).

And, yes, the maple syrup thing was stereotypical. But, hey, so is Hetalia itself. I mean, I'm not obsessed with fast food, soda, and heroic duties. Heck, I'm more like a cross between Arthur, Feliciano, and Kiku (however that works 0.0).

Anyway, R&R, please! Let's top the charts with the number of reviews!

~Lore


	3. Mild Mannered Confusion

**January 5****th**

**Twelfth Day**

**12:43 p.m.**

"You are, by far, the most ridiculous nation I have ever known," Arthur stated, gazing down upon his guest, who lay sprawled out on the carpet. _I cannot believe he passed out… all from me insisting that he live by a healthier lifestyle! How hopeless can one man become? _The Briton bent over, grasping Alfred under each shoulder and proceeding to drag him into the living room, setting him down gently on the sofa. His emerald eyes fell upon his former colony's unconscious face, a mask differing greatly from the peaceful face of slumber. In the blissful moments of sleep, Alfred had always worn a unique expression; at peace, yet so troubled all the same. However, compared to those moments, the "out cold" face bore nothing but deep, undeniable contrast. Alfred's eyes were shut tight, covered by clamped eyelids, and his lips were pressed into a thin line. Truthfully, he had the appearance of a disturbed madman. All the same, Arthur found this side of him simultaneously horrific, crudely amusing, and adorable.

_He looks almost pained… Oh, that's right; he bumped his head on the desk…_ Arthur, hesitant at first to break his own personal regulations and boundaries, inched his right hand forward, thankful for Alfred's lack of awareness about the current events, and brushed back his guest's hair from the side of his head, feeling around for any sort of injury. His fingertips brushed lightly against a sizeable swelling bump just above the left ear; gratefully, the much-too-familiar feel of blood failed to make itself present. The last thing he needed was the opportunity to mop up Alfred's pouring blood, so for this, he thanked the heavens silently. He took notice of Alfred's face twisting up out of discomfort, and slid his hand back towards the armrest of the couch. _Might as well get the dolt an ice pack or something…_

As he approached the freezer, stuffing a towel to the brim with ice cubes, he couldn't help but allow his gaze to drift back over to Alfred's weakened form on the couch. _I don't believe I'll ever be able to explain your strange lifestyle; such a pathetic guy, and yet…_ _you always manage to find your way to the top. Why can't I have such luck? Instead, I'm stuck nursing your swelling scalp!_ Was this, perhaps, the beginning of Arthur's karma? By some odd chance, was this his way of receiving payback for his own revenge? _Life has a cruel, wicked way of doing things…_

He swung the freezer door shut, a chilly frost sprouting upon his face, and made the much-too-short trek back to his unconscious guest on the sofa, who hadn't moved an inch but to bury his face deeper into the armrest. Arthur let loose an edgy sigh, tilting Alfred's head again to allow him access to the swelling red bump. He softly brushed back the sticky hair again and placed the ice-filled towel on the lump, flinching at the American's momentous shiver.

_He'll never be able to survive with the new eating habits. However, regardless of what befalls me from this, as much torturous time will be spent with this irritating git… It'll all be worth it in the end. Maybe he'll get so sick of my company that he'll actually leave me be when I desire._

"But we all know that's not you really want," said a high-pitched voice beside him. A pixie stood on Alfred's head, resting on his temple with a bored expression on her face.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about." Arthur shut his eyes lightly.

The miniscule creature yawned, resting her chin inattentively in her palm. "Oh, don't even get me started. Sure, there are times in your life in which peace is like Heaven itself. But, others, particularly this spent with this buffoon, you become completely flustered. The anti-social lifestyle morphs into a Hell."

"This is completely irrelevant!"

"Oh, but it's not! Quit making up excuses, you blinded wanker!" She rose quickly, tapping a foot against Alfred's pale skin. "You _kissed _him, Arthur. Have you done anything of that sort with Francis? With Matthew? With Peter? I didn't think so!"

"It meant absolutely nothing!" Arthur's eyes blazed, staring down at this cretin with agitation. The Englishman, usually a sharp-tongued gentleman, found himself shouting. "It was a one-time thing! Look at him!" The American's eyebrow twitched, his lips quirking up into a stupid, passed-out smile. "Do you think the carefree, over-confident Alfred F. Jones would ever return anything that I could ever feel for him? It's a blooming lost cause!"

"Only if you allow it to become one. Spend these months with him; diet him, torment him, seduce him, whatever you desire. Keep that pessimistic attitude; we'll see if you allow him to abandon you again." She vanished, mockingly humming "The Star-Spangled Banner".

_Dammit…_ Arthur swore in his head, nails digging into his calloused hands as his fingers balls up into clenched fists. _What have I gotten myself into? I can't bloody think straight! Oh, damn it all!_

"Ughn…" Alfred groaned, eyelids giving way to reveal his brightening oceanic orbs. "What happened?" He slowly rose from the couch, finding such a task increasingly difficult, as he was much too tall to fit on the loveseat. Deciding that he would make do with his current position, feet slumping over one end, his neck hugging the other, Alfred brought his hand up to his head, fingers lightly touching the tender spot above his ear. He grinned foolishly, retaining his normal personality, and directed his gaze to England. "Oh, yeah! You said you were going to-"

Arthur stood, arms crossed, scowling. "I'm going to take a shower. Go ahead and leave whenever; the training will have to wait for another day." Without awaiting a reply, he turned on his heels and stalked out of the room.

Alfred said nothing, face curious as he felt something moist slide from his head. Bending over, he picked up a towel from the carpet, sopping wet and dripping with frozen water. _Hmm… thanks, Ig._

His pants pocket began to vibrate, jolting Alfred instantaneously. Bringing the cloth back up to his swollen bump, he reached into his pocket with the other hand and flipped open his cell phone. "Hello?"

"Alfred!"

"Matthew? Is everything alright?"

"Y-Y-Yes, but… erm, there's…. a, kind of-"

"Rule number one, Matthew!"

"There's a bunch of strange noises coming from the cellar! I went down there, but-"

Alfred's eyes widened. "Wait, what? What did you see?!"

"I didn't; I was calling to ask where the light switch is."

"Oh… right. Don't worry about it, Canada. I should be leaving shortly." _It's probably just Tony… don't really feel like filling Matthew in on_ those_ details right now…._

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, I mean… I'm a hero, after all!"

"What does that have to do with-"

"Just don't worry about it!"

"O-Oh yeah, Alfred, I, uh, found a sprig of holly on the banister about an hour ago. I took the liberty of… well, you know… putting it away."

"Oh, thanks, Matthew. Later!"

"G-Goodbye."

Alfred clamped his phone shut, shifting from his spot on the sofa into a sitting position. Guess I'd better leave, before the old man changes his mind about the diet thing… "See you around, Artie!" he called, smiling and waving at thin air. Sighing contently, the American stole one last glance down the hallway and exited via the front door.

"He's gone, you know," said a voice above Arthur, who lay miserably on his mattress. The pixie from earlier popped back up, lying on his forehead with her head rested lethargically on his bushy eyebrows. "These are pretty cushiony, you know."

"Oh, shut up, you annoying-"

"Let's not get cranky, now," she muttered out of boredom, stretching. "There went your chance of patching things up between the two of you. That smooch from a week or so ago… that left things jumbled between you two pretty hard, you know."

"I'm not daft. I knew that the moment it happened." He sighed, resting a hand on his stomach. "I wish I could just… undo what happened all that time ago."

"No you don't. I can see it in your eyes. On the contrary, you want it to happen for real this time."

"'For real'?"

"You know, more than just a nervous peck on your account."

Arthur said nothing, silence providing more mood and emotion than words could ever create. "It was just… a mistake. And now I'm being punished for it."

"Jeez, you really need a hobby."

"Shut your trap," he snapped, but softened his face apologetically. "Sorry… you're right. What am I to do?"

The pixie said nothing for a moment. "Why not… I dunno, use this diet plan as an excuse? Maybe you need a resolution for yourself; train him, torture him, make him pay. Then, when he least expects it…" She dropped from his eyebrows down into his face. "BAM!"

"Wah! Are you mental?! Get out of my face!" Arthur swatted her away, sitting upright. "And what are you implying by the 'bam', exactly?"

"Oh, come on, use your imagination. It all depends on where you want this relationship to go; if you'd rather it be a lasting, fairytale love, then maybe a single kiss, followed by others as time goes on. If you see it as merely a year-long fling, to be reversed at any given time, go _all out_."

"I'm not even going to ask what you're trying to imply. Are you sure you aren't French?"

The pixie shrugged. "Whatever, your choice. The name's Xepherya, by the way." And with that, she left his presence.

_Well, that didn't help things at all…_ The Brit thought, rubbing his throbbing head. _She can't be right. It doesn't matter, my opinion of Alfred; he could never return the emotion. Not in the same sort of love, anyway._

_Guess I'll plot for the first dieting session. Assuming he even shows his face. Wonder when I should plan it for. Suppose he'll find that out soon enough._ He snickered gently.

He recalled the picture frame on his dresser; oh, there were many, of himself, of family, allies, all sorts of historical moments. A single painting sat on the top of the wood, however, near the back; a painting of Arthur himself with a little America beside him, grinning innocently with the playful purity of a child. The Englishman shook his head, smiling with a certain sense of bittersweet melancholy.

_Perhaps things are better this way._

He couldn't help but pray that he was wrong.

* * *

A/N: For whatever reason, I have trouble resisting the urge to update this fic. I simply love writing this, oddly enough. However, with school starting back up tomorrow and midterms approaching, I may not get to update as often. I really enjoyed typing up this chapter. R&R

Would you all mind if I updated this sooner than planned? For instance, if I ended up writing a chapter for this about... April Fool's Day or something, and it was the end of February, would that bother you? Just an inquiry, because I really do love writing this. ^^


	4. Business as Usual, And Then Some

A/N: In case some of you didn't catch it, I did upload chapter 3 late last night, so I hope you didn't skip it accidentally. Enjoy.

* * *

**January 24****th**

**No Particular Holiday…?**

**7:03 a.m.**

The sun began to dimly glow above the flattened horizon, casting its enlightenment in the direction of Alfred's bedroom window. Its heavenly gleam glared upon his spectacles, resting in a folded position on the nightstand as it reflected the light to the opposite wall. The American gave a slight groan, subconsciously raising his large hands up in defense against the grueling sunlight. A prolonged yawn escaped his lungs as he rubbed the previous night's slumber from his sapphire eyes. He strived to raise himself into a sitting position, though found it emphatically difficult upon attempt, so he simply gave in and buried his face back into the comforting embrace of the feather pillow, shielding his eyes from the sunlight within the sanctuary of the sheets, now an aegis over his head. _Sunday…? Nnn… too early to get up… _he mumbled mentally, drifting back into a tranquil rest; he remained awake, though merely closed his heavy eyelids and relaxed.. After all, today should not have been by any means busy; on the contrary, it was to be more of a "lazy day", in which Alfred could simply nestle comfortably onto the sofa and watch television, sipping a cola. But, hey, no reason to rush, correct?

_Wonder if Matthew's gone back home yet…_ he wondered as the sweet scent of pecan waffles wafted into his nostrils, penetrating the barrier of the bedcovers. _S' pose not._ The Canadian had, admittedly, not learned a blasted thing from his tutor in these weeks spent at Alfred's estate. Thankfully, Matthew found his brother's company pleasingly comforting, and enjoyed the little moments of silence spent between them. In all reality, the American didn't mind his sibling hanging about either; it was that God-forsaken polar bear that always managed to pop up out of thin air. _What's his name again? Kuma-something-or-other? Hrm… I never did see him yesterday. Wonder where the cute little pest has gotten to this time…_

Alfred allowed another half-hour to pass on by before coming to the troublesome conclusion that he required a brief, steaming shower to fully awaken himself. _Then maybe I can grab some breakfast! _He thought, smiling vividly._ Though, I will admit, if I eat too many more waffles, pancakes, or French toast, I think Arthur's diet plan for me will get blown out of the water. Come to think of it, Iggy hasn't showed his face or even called since the fifth. Wonder what he's got on his mind this time. It always seems to be something with him._ Alfred trudged into the bathroom, stifling another yawn as he began to undress. Following his prompt removal of clothing, he pulled out the faucet knob and stepped into the shower, assuring himself that the bathroom door was clamped shut. _I hope the old man's not mad at me or something. I mean, I'm a perfectly likeable guy, right? I'm a hero; you can't _hate_ a hero, unless you're the arch nemesis. Or a stick in the mud. Maybe that fits Arthur more to a point. But I guess he can't _really_ despise me, considering what happened about a month ago._ One month. Unbelievably, that much time had passed since their Christmas turmoil together. One month had passed since the decorating together, since the drunken England, since the peck on the lips… Astounding even himself, Alfred felt his heart ache for such a familiar moment. Never had he spent such a delightful time with Arthur since his childhood, and even those moments cherished by the two had become scarce, what with his former guardian always leaving him behind to grow up alone.

A soft sigh escaped his lips. If nothing more had happened between the two, either family-oriented or perhaps something much more intimate, then nothing ever would; saddening truth, but the only possible reality. He groped around behind the blurred shower curtain (he obviously hadn't bothered to reapply his glasses), wincing as his hand caught hold of his razor as opposed to his shampoo bottle. _Where is it… where is it…? Maybe I left it out on the counter._ Alfred peered over the curtain, reassuring himself that the room was as lifeless as humanly possible, and stepped out from behind the shielding privacy cloth. He continued to feel around, fingering only his toothbrush and comb. _Where else would it be?_ He shivered briefly, bare flesh covering itself in goosebumps at the sudden lack of heated water.

The faintest shuffling noise sounded behind him, a few paper cups plummeting to the slick tile floor. He jerked around, finding himself gawking at an equally dumbfounded polar bear, who ceased his gnawing on the shampoo bottle. Kumajirou plopped onto the floor, beady eyes gaping at the naked man before him. An echoing silence overtook the atmosphere for a few moments, long enough for the American to come to his senses and holler, chucking the nearest object, a rather unfortunate tube of toothpaste, at the bear's startled form. "G-G-Get out of here!" Alfred demanded, grabbing the chubby animal by the scruff of the neck and forcing him out the door. The nation's breath came in mortified pants, oceanic eyes wide as grapefruits. That bear, that perverted little creature, had just snuck into his bathroom, half-devoured his shampoo, and seen him nude. Alfred F. Jones, calm and carefree as he may be, became flustered and slightly irked.

Matthew was going to have to go… and go soon.

********

**8:20 a.m.**

"G-Good morning… Alfred…" the quiet Canadian stuttered, craftily maneuvering his spatula beneath two waffles and scooping them onto a plate for his brother, drowning them in sweet maple syrup and creamy butter. "Sleep well?"

"I guess," Alfred muttered, trying to force a smile, though it gave the appearance of a grimacing Rottweiler. "So, Matthew…"

"Yes?" he asked, averting his violet eyes towards his sibling. Alfred's hair was sopping wet and plastered to his skull, wrapping and barely following the edge of his jaw. His face looked bewildered, a beaming scarlet hue identical to the one Arthur always used to make. "Whoa… W-What happened to-?"

"Kumajirou happened." Alfred said nothing more, applying his fake smile all the while. "As I was saying, Matthew… when do you think you'll be leaving? I can at least give you one more lesson before your departure, but-"

"I-I-I'm sorry that the bear gave you troubles…" he whimpered, gazing down at his slipper-sheathed feet. "I actually planned on leaving the day after tomorrow. But I wouldn't mind your help with this resolution some other time…"

"Oh, it's alright, Canada," Alfred said reassuringly, a genuine, gentle smile gracing his features. "I'm here for ya all the way!"

Matthew returned the smile. "Thank you…"

America scooted the kitchen chair out from beneath the table, sniffing his saccharine waffles with a watery mouth. "Smells good. Thanks for cookin'." He grabbed the fork and knife from his napkin, huddled up against the syrup-sodden platter in perfect parallel lines. "So, I had a lesson planned out for you, but over the past weeks you seem to have already accomplished it." He hesitated before placing the utensils back upon the table, leaving the waffles untouched.

"R-Really?" Matthew's voice sounded incredulous, his purple gaze widening in astonishment. "How?"

"You've managed to keep a conversation going on more than one occasion. That's a good start." Alfred winked, shooting him a thumbs up. "Now we'll just need to work on the stuttering."

"I don't think that's-"

"Oh, come on! You'll do fine. There's nothing standing in your way other than yourself!"

Matthew winced, eyes agape like a little child's. "Really? I… I never really thought about it like that." His voice softened, nearly inaudible. "I just… With most people, it seems to come so, I don't know, naturally? And th-then, then there's me; a hopeless cause."

"You are_ not_ hopeless, Matthew! Look me in the eyes!" Canada obliged guiltily. "There are more shy people out there than you know. Heck, just look at Kiku; he's the next quietest person I know! He's doing just great, because while he maintains a quiet exterior, he has become disciplined. He can be outgoing only when he needs to. We don't need to change who you are… just _adjust_ it. You don't need to be social at all times; believe you me, it can be tiring." The two smiled at this, chuckling. Alfred rested a firm hand on his brother's shoulder. "You've gotten yourself too worked up about it. You're doing just fine."

"I-I… sorry for being a bother. Thanks again." Matthew smiled, standing up and approaching the refrigerator, pouring himself a glass of frozen orange juice.

Alfred sighed contently, re-seizing the knife and fork and cutting himself a bite of waffle, bringing it up to his lips. "Hey, all in a day's work for a-"

The deafening roar of a gunshot echoed throughout the house, and a single bullet rebounded off of Alfred's waffle-on-a-fork, sending the utensil flying through the air with a large _thunk_. American and Canadian froze unwaveringly, eyes swollen open with sheer disbelief. Alfred's mouth, open agape from the bite he was _supposed _to take, retained its wide shape as his head finally twitched in the direction of the gunshot, fixing his eyes on the perpetrator.

"Ah ah ah, Alfred. The first rule- no junk. No exceptions," Arthur said with a murderous smirk. "Day one of your training begins now."

* * *

A/N: Yeah, I do think I'll go ahead and do these on obscure dates; I don't want this fiction to take more than a year to complete. I'd drive myself crazy trying not to update. My chapters are always short anyway, so I think I'll update pretty often.

R&R! I'll shoot your waffles if you don't!


	5. Unidentified Bubbling Goop

**January 24****th**

**8:56 a.m.**

"U-U-U-U-Um, A-Alfred?" Matthew stammered, trembling from head to toe. "I think… I think I'll go pack now… s-see you soon!" The Canadian, violet orbs still fixated on the psychotic Briton standing in the doorway, gave a nervous chuckle and stumbled in the direction of his room, a shrill shriek of terror soon rebounding off the walls in a loud echo. Admittedly, even as a child, Matthew had been slightly afraid of Arthur, though this mostly derived from Francis' "make believe" stories. However, in recent years, Canada had become more accustomed to the gentlemanly England, and respected him with great revere. Not once had he witnessed such a lunacy in the older nation's eyes than in that very moment. _Is he wasted? Or does he really just hate Alfred that much?_ He couldn't help but wonder as the door to the guest bedroom shut with a _click_.

"Hmph. He has a much more frazzled demeanor than I remembered," Arthur mused, a thick eyebrow raised in the direction in which Matthew had scurried. "Regardless." His head swiveled back towards his unlucky American victim, a smirk gracing his frightening face. "Alright, Alfred. Ready for Hell?"

"As ready as I'll ever be!" he responded, punching a fist into the air in determination. "What'll we be doing first? Some push-ups? Maybe some weight lifting?"

"Actually, I figured we would begin with the edible portion of your trial." Arthur sauntered past Alfred, exchanging challenging glances as they crossed paths. The Englishman took such a moment to observe his new prey, though it lasted mere seconds. His former colony was dressed in his casual way, bomber jacket and all. Upon noticing the sleek shimmer of his sopping blond hair, it was concluded that Alfred must have showered previous to his arrival. Though he denied it thoroughly, Arthur couldn't help but squirm slightly as he felt the heat rising to his crimson cheeks, brought on by the rather… attractive way that Alfred's hair clung so snuggly to his dampened skin, dripping from his scalp down his face and neck and disappearing behind the curtain of his clothes. Not that Arthur found himself attracted to the soggy numskull. Not at all. "A-Anyway, I'll cook you up something substantial; not like those hamburgers, or those heathounds or whatever-they're-called."

"You mean… a hotdog?" Alfred questioned, his attempt to stifle his laughter failing. Arthur's face turned a brighter hue of scarlet as the younger nation began to crack up, bursting out in large whoops of laughter. Though he would never admit it to himself, Arthur allowed his humiliation to get the better of him, and clenched the gun in his hands again, firing right out the open window, striking the ground with a resonating _bang_. That shut him up.

"As I was trying to say, I want you to go weigh yourself while I fix you a nutritious meal." Arthur proceeded to forage around in the pantry, rummaging around for anything remotely healthy. "And don't weigh yourself with shoes on, it adds pounds."

"I know that, I'm not _that_ stupid." Alfred grinned, though it soon faded into a grimace as he peered over Arthur's shoulder at the strange brew being prepared. "I don't think you should bother cooking me anything, though. I mean, that would be rude. You're the guest, after all. You always did tell me to mind my manners."

Arthur released an exasperated sigh. "Don't get me ticked off right now." Without bothering to even turn around, he raised the gun again, this time aiming squarely at Alfred's head. "I'm really not in the mood to withstand your tomfoolery."

"R-Right, then…" The American stuttered, beads of perturbed sweat pouring down his face, remoistening the nape of his neck as he stumbled down the hallway.

Arthur, reassuring himself that his the room was silent, smiled softly in contention as he set out a large ceramic bowl onto the countertop and began chopping up some lettuce. _He really can be an idiot sometimes..._

"Someone looks a little lovesick," remarked an all-too-familiar voice from the bowl. Xepherya the pixie materialized before him in the bowl of azure unmentionables, covered in head to toe in the abstract goop. "Taken it any further yet?"

"What the-?" He grabbed the spatula and scooped her up, placing her on the edge of the kitchen sink. "Get out of there. The last thing I need is for your bizarre attempts at love to make him choke."

She narrowed her eyes, crossing her bare arms. "Well, I don't think the brute'll need me for that. Your… cuisine seems to be doing a dandy job at its current state of fatality."

"Oh, shut up, you big-mouthed pain in the arse," he muttered, sprinkling in a dash of rust-colored paprika. "He always ate my cooking as a child. I baked for him over Christmas and he ate it all."

She raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, and threw up a few seconds later. You'll thank me for my nagging eventually. So, really, you honestly haven't done anything yet? With Alfred, I mean."

"Of course not. Don't be absurd." His jade eyes saddened, a nostalgic gnawing sensation pulling at his burdened heart. "I have told you many times; he doesn't feel for me that way. And, quite frankly, I shouldn't have any feelings for him either. We're-"

"Iggy! Matthew!" Alfred's voice rang out through the house, that whiny, childish tone of his being enough to rattle Arthur's already-aching head. The Brit released a pestered groan from the back of his throat, rolling his eyes. _He pisses me off enough as it is. The last thing I should want is to become closer._

Arthur sighed, placing his ivory spatula gently upon the cutting board and tightening an apron around his body before trudging down the hallway that led to Alfred's bedroom. Honestly, how hopeless would one have to be, to need assistance in a task as simplistic as weighing oneself? The Englishman wiped his pasty hands upon the apron and twisted the doorknob, peering into the crack he had created upon opening the door. _What the bloody-!_ He whirled back around, shutting the oak door tightly behind him in a frenzied panic. His face heated drastically as a disturbed blush crept to his cheeks. Only three measly questions restated themselves time and time again in his mind.

First of all, who was the polar bear? Perhaps Matthew's pet?

Second, why was the polar bear sitting in a pile of broken and dented metal parts?

Lastly, and undeniably most important, _why_ did Alfred have to be shirtless?

Wait, metal parts? Arthur's face twisted into an agitated frown as he swung the door back open, revealing America wrestling with Kumajirou, shirtless, in a colossal heap of busted pipes, a wire coated by half-melted insulation, and a dial that had been snapped in half in the turmoil. "W-What happened in here?!" he demanded.

Had it been possible, Alfred could have sworn he saw billows of steam puffing out of his bushy-browed guest. "What, you mean this? Alright, here's the story. I came in here to weigh myself, like you said, and as I was undressing… you know, so it wouldn't interfere with the scale, this little creature decided to come up from behind me and breaks the scale-"

"That's not at all what happened!" the bear protested as Arthur stood perplexed and traumatized before him. "This moronic bastard was trying to sneak out the window! I was merely trying to stop him!"

Arthur knitted his thick brows together, gritting his teeth. His voice, trembling with anger, was a low, quiet tone, almost more horrific than a _shouting _England. "I don't know who to believe, but both of you are going to follow me… and I _don't expect you to disobey me, _understand?!" His voice raised, fists clenched as he stormed from the room. "Get me something to drink, Xepherya! Something bitter and swimming in alcohol!"

Exchanging distasteful glares, Alfred and Kumajirou abided in Arthur's requests. "And put a shirt on, Alfred! Nobody wants to see that!"

"Nobody except you," Xepherya whispered, snickering.

Following that strange turn of events, Alfred and Kumajirou plopped down on the barstools, scooting in as Arthur placed a bowl of unidentified bubbling goop before them. "Eat up," the Briton said, sneering as he patted the gun tucked safely into his belt. "Or regret it later."

The American took a single glance at the bowl, his azure eyes meeting the emerald gaze of the expectant creator of this concoction. "And… what exactly am I going to eat? What is this stuff?"

Arthur smiled brightly, a true cheerful demeanor overcoming his soul. "Alfred, I'd like to introduce you to an old favorite of the diet… salad!"

"Salad…?"

"Yep."

"Iggy, it's electric blue."

"Yes, it is."

"It's bubbling."

"Indeed. You sure catch on quickly."

Alfred blinked, his stomach flipping into defiant knots as he gazed into the depths of the disgusting bowl. "U-Um… can I just skip-"

"No."

"What's this purple stuff?"

"Fat-free dressing, of course. Now, eat up."

"Hey, Iggy?"

"Oh, what now, you blasted buffoon?!" Arthur yelled, outraged.

Xepherya sat upon Alfred's shoulder, stroking the collar of his shirt absentmindedly. "Temper, temper, Arthur. Is that any way to treat such a defenseless, innocent man? And a little, childish crush at that. Though, really, make him eat soon, he hasn't brushed his teeth yet, and the stench is making me feel a bit light-headed… if that stuff doesn't rot his teeth away before then."

"Innocent and defenseless my arse!" the Englishman hollered, snatching a paper bag from the drawer beside him.

"Hmm? Are you talking to me?" Alfred questioned, frowning in worry. "Is everything alright, England?"

"I assure you, ignorant wanker, everything is just brilliant. It's all _bloody brilliant_, and I have _everything under control_!" Arthur emphasized, glaring daggers at the irritating little pixie, who now took the opportunity to stroke Alfred's cheek in mock affection. "Get your grubby little hands off of-"

"Oh, are you seeing things again, Iggy? You really had me worried there for a minute…" The American let out a concealed sigh of relief, lazily resting his chin in his palm upon the bar.

"Aww, hear that? He was worried sick about you. Enough to sicken me," Xepherya murmured, leaning against Alfred's neck as she slouched to rest on his shoulder.

Arthur clenched his fists and, before a being in the room could comprehend the situation, Arthur had leapt forward, enclosing the little nuisance in the paper bag. "Gotcha, you-!" And that was when he took a brief moment to blink and realized his position.

He had managed to capture the pixie… but by means of climbing upon Alfred himself. America sat frozen on the barstool, Arthur's arm outstretched to the glutton's shoulder. Arthur's knee nestled between Alfred's slightly spread legs, and the Brit found himself brushing cheeks with his former colony, their bodies pressed together softly. The two remained like that, both too paralyzed from the surprise of the moment to move… well, at least Arthur was. Alfred couldn't really move without harming the older nation, so he stayed put, sapphire eyes gawking blankly ahead, heart fluttering. The faces of both males were all but identical; both a deep scarlet in a duplicate blush.

"O-Okay, Alfred, I think I've-" Matthew rounded the corner, took a single glance at the two in their current compromising position, and stopped dead in his tracks, expression illegible as he let out a stupefied "Hnnn?"

* * *

A/N: A little treat for the fans out there, since I probably won't be able to update tomorrow (accursed geometry homework!). I know, the USxUK action has been limited at best, but it'll get better, don't worry.

Or maybe it won't. We'll just have to see, won't we? *wink* And yes, you do fix salad with a spatula. ^.^

R&R, so that something may eventually happen.


	6. The Bombing of Alfred F Jones

**January 24****th**

**10:01 a.m.**

"Uh… e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-h?" Never had such a softly-spoken, stammered bit of gibberish been heard by human ears until that moment, in which Matthew had entered the room, suitcases in hand, and saw a most unexpected scene unfold before his eyes. "Unexpected" was most likely the greatest understatement of the year. He could utter nothing else, a lack of any sensible words coming to his aid. Arthur Kirkland, _the_ witty, irritable Arthur Kirkland was pressed up against Matthew's brother on a barstool, faces lightly grazing the other. The Canadian's breath hitched without warning, and he took a single step back, violet stare gawking at the two men before him. "I-I-I-I-I… I-I'll come back… l-later…" His face soon matched the others identically, beet red and glowing, as he turned to retreat back into the guest bedroom.

"N-No, Matthew!" Arthur called, beckoning the Canadian forward. At long last, his mind had whisked him out of his startled paralysis enough to allow him to stagger off of the barstool, legs weakened and trembling from anxiety. Much to his dismay, it appeared as though the emotions towards his former colony would not be ceasing any time in the distant future, as his fluttering heart ached at the lack of Alfred's soft flesh against his own. Brushing the feeling off defiantly, he rushed after the shy twin in a frantic panic, waving the now-empty paper bag around like a madman. "You don't know what really happened!"

Alfred remained in his seat, motionless in the eerie silence of the kitchen. His heart withheld its rapid beating, hammering off of his ribcage in bewilderment as he heard the muffled voices of Arthur and Matthew erupt from the other room, imperceptible. The American stole a glance at Kumajirou, who was busy scarfing down both his and Alfred's bowls of "salad" in complete bliss. "You're a unique little creature…" Alfred commented, smiling. "Adorable, annoyingly intrusive, and steel-stomached all at once." He reached out his hand, ruffling the fur atop the animal's fluffy white head. "Wanna come with me to the grocery store?"

Kumajirou nodded hesitantly. "Can't be worse than what's-his-face," he grumbled, hopping off of the bar.

"Hey, I'm going out to the supermarket!" he called down the hall, fishing around in his pockets for the house key. "Need anything?"

"Don't buy a single blooming burger on the way there!"

_Take a wild guess who that was…_ Alfred muttered inwardly, shaking his head and shutting the front door behind him and Kumajirou. The young nation cupped his hands over his mouth, exhaling into the gloves to heat his body up in the icy mid-winter weather. Unleashing a sleepy yawn, his hands darted back into his pockets, grasping the car key, which he proceeded to use on his vehicle.

Once inside the warmth of the car, he clicked the seat belt into place across his torso and backed up. _Wonder if Iggy'll stay long… Maybe I should get him some tea or something._ His eyes widened momentarily, reverting to their normal state a split-second later. There he was, thinking about his former guardian again. _The whole reason we separated in the first place was because he had taken too much control of my life. I don't need him to-_ He found his thoughts interrupted by a familiar scent drifting to his nostrils, salivating his mouth almost instantaneously. _Ohh… cheeseburgers… French fries…_ The speed of the car slowed to a crawl as he drove past the fast food restaurant, a hungry gnawing in the pit of his gut. _I never did eat breakfast… _A sign flashed atop the building, outlined in blue neon (not that it did much in broad daylight), advertising a new special deluxe burger. _I'm sure Artie won't mind if I just take a peak inside…_

He parked the vehicle and immediately hopped out onto the paved parking lot, the polar bear snoozing peacefully in the back seat as he awaited the return of Alfred. He returned moments later with a grease-caked burger in his left hand, a soda pop in his right.

"Arthur's not going to be too happy with ya," Kumajirou piped up, lurching forward towards the driver's seat as Alfred plopped down to devour his brunch. "Gimme a bite!"

"H-Hey! Stay away from my burger!" His eyes softened suddenly, and he tore off a bite from the burger with his fingers. "Oh, fine. Here."

The bear's face lit up. "R-Really? Thanks!" He leapt in the direction of the bite, nibbling it contently.

"Don't mention it. A hero needs to look out for those in need, even if it means risking his own life."

Kumajirou's head cocked to the side a bit. "Why are you so obsessed with becoming a hero, anyway?"

Alfred said nothing, eyes averting to the distant sky up above. For what reason _did_ he want to become a hero? Not once had he ever questioned his peculiar motives; ever since the day that he had come across an old book of Arthur's as a child, he had become engrossed in the excitement and enthralling drama of the hero. The daring action, the feeling of being loved by nearly all, the troubles and turmoil that made themselves present before a moment of prevail… it had always appealed to him as ridiculously riveting. But… was there a particular reason for which he strived so hard for?

Finally, he smiled vividly and answered whole-heartedly. "I want to become a hero…" Many images set themselves on playback in the back of his mind; Matthew pleading for his help with this resolution, Kiku standing in the corner with that solemn, almost sorrowful look upon his face, Arthur kneeling below him on the Revolutionary battlefield, shoulders racking with his sobs. "I want to become a hero so that I may protect those whom I care about." He shot the bear an arrogant grin, staring off into the sky again in what the white creature assumed to be a pathetic attempt at a dramatic pose.

"What an unrealistic dream," Kumajirou mumbled, but returned the smile half-heartedly.

********

**January 24****th**

**10:43 a.m.**

"Look, Matthew, I know I could never convince you entirely," Arthur stated, sitting beside Canada on the living room floor of Alfred's estate. "But, I swear, we weren't_ doing_ anything!"

Matthew tapped the carpet below him squeamishly. "I know, I know… it just startled me, that's all. I never would have expected that you two-" He realized just what it was he had begun to say, and raised his hands up in defense. "No, no, I didn't mean it like that. Forget I said anything." A smile lit up his features, his right hand hoisting up to his mouth as he bit back a small chuckle. "You should have seen his face, though. He looked about ready to pass out."

"Hm. I didn't notice."

"Yeah, because you were too busy trying to avoid eye contact in shame!" spoke Xepherya's all-too-familiar voice behind his ear.

The Canadian's violet eyes darted to the floor for a moment, at last meeting Arthur's gaze with a slight blush of embarrassment tinting his cheeks. "Um… Arthur? Mind if I ask something?"

The Briton let out a shaky sigh. "Don't bother. I already know what you're going to imply. And… and I will admit that he attracts me, to some degree. Look, Alfred is much too ignorant to notice my feelings. Besides, he doesn't think of me in such a way. I'll just… have to learn to get over it, I suppose."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Matthew murmured, his friendly, welcoming smile fading slightly. "I-I… uh, not that it's in my place to say anything, but…" He paused. "Something has been off about him the past few weeks. I've been trying to figure it out, but haven't been able to find anything out. I was beginning to worry."

Arthur grunted, eyebrows knitting together as he smirked. "Don't bother. I have tried multiple times over the years to unravel the mystery that is Alfred F. Jones' mind, and it's a task done in vain. The nitwit is too oblivious to the rest of the world to notice _himself _acting peculiarly."

"I suppose."

The two sat in a pregnant silence, allowing it to sink in. Finally, Arthur cleared his throat and spoke up. "Want some tea? I made it for you, once, back when you were Francis' responsibility."

"Okay, thank you. Erm, if you don't mind me asking." Matthew rose to his knees, peering over at the Englishman from behind the sofa as curiosity got the better of him. "Did… did something happen between you two at Christmas?"

Arthur said nothing for some time, thick brow twitching with unnerve. "Well, that's-"

"-He downright smooched the American silly!"

"I swear, once we get back home, I'm cursing you to Hell."

Matthew's purple gaze widened, his breath choked off in his throat. A momentary silence followed, replaced by Arthur realizing that these words were spoken aloud.

"Not… not you, Matthew. Sorry."

The Canadian felt his tense muscles relax, and a deep sigh escaped his chest. "Th-thank goodness. Now… what happened?"

_Damn. He didn't forget._ Arthur turned around to face the younger nation. "Alright, well, I made the mistake of- well… you know what? I don't feel comfortable discussing this." A deep scarlet dappled his face, his ears reddening simultaneously.

_Hmm. You're stubborn, easily-agitated, and have horrible taste in food. Alfred is arrogant, absentminded, and also has horrible taste in food. How you two wound up in such a strange relationship, I'll never understand._ Matthew just continued to smile generously, a trait shared between the two polar-opposite twins.

****************

**January 24****th**

**3:26 p.m.**

"Sorry we're late," Alfred apologized, strolling through the doorway with a massive pile of grocery bags snuggled within his long embrace. "Kumajirou insisted on visiting the ice rink. Seriously, though, does he ever stop eating?"

Kumajirou entered behind the American, gnawing on a chicken wing. Matthew smiled, a gentle laugh escaping his lips. "Oh, he has his moments. He didn't eat anything yesterday. That reminds me, Arthur left about an hour ago. He told me to tell you to look under your bed, he said he left you something."

"Oh… right…" Alfred's voice faltered mildly in dismay. "Mind if I leave these bags for you to put away?"

"Not at all! It's the least I can do, right?"

"But… I haven't really taught you anything yet. You've become more talkative on your own."

"Err… why don't you go check on the gift he left you? I'm sure it must be important…"

Alfred 's lips quirked back into their usual, moronic delight. "I'll check up on it before I go to bed tonight. I don't really see his plans working anyway; I've tried working out before, but I never seem to lose any pounds. It's a lost cause."

That's because it's turning into muscle… Matthew thought, but kept the remark to himself. "Okay, then. Why do I need to-"

"Because I have to clean up the mess Arthur managed to make when cooking his salad."

The Canadian blinked a few times, perplexed. "That was a salad?" Alfred nodded. "I-I thought it was some sort of British guacamole dip…"

"What, the English Blue Avocado?" Alfred let out a bellowing laugh at the thought.

"Oh, put a fork in it."

"See? You're becoming fiestier!"

****************

**January 24****th**

**11:18 p.m.**

"G'night, Mattie!"

"Goodnight, Alfred." Matthew retreated into his bedroom, setting aside his fully-compressed suitcases. He would depart in the morning.

Alfred, on the other hand, stood by the bedside in his own room, toothbrush dangling loosely from his lips as he bent over for Arthur's gift. It was a petite cardboard box with a note atop the lid. It read:

_Dear Alfred,_

_Attached below is a list of meals to occupy your needs for healthy dieting. Figure out the recipes on your own, lazy git. I'll come to visit again next week; I'll check up on your diets once, sometime during the first week of each month for the next year. Next time, we'll negotiate on my end of the deal. I feel rotten about leaving you with nothing after all that I've put you through._

_I expect the house tidy when I arrive. Thank Canada for telling you of this present's location._

_Sincerely,_

_Arthur Kirkland._

_P.S.- I'm not daft. I know you bought yourself about four burgers while you were gone. A gift from me to you, to go with each snuck meal._

A gift… for each snuck meal? What could that mean? Fearful, Alfred hesitantly removed the lid and peered inside, a vile stench rising to his nose immediately. Four glops of "salad" leftover from previously in the day sat tightly packed in the box, each one bearing a flashing red light in the center. _A red dot?_ The blinking increased rapidly, and a shrill beeping noise sounded from the electric-blue blobs. A sudden realization smacked Alfred crudely in the jaw as he came across a few wires at the bottom of the box.

The toothbrush hanging in his mouth plunged to the floor as he tossed the hazardous box into the air. "Oh shi-!"

Matthew jolted awake as the fire alarm blared above the headboard of the bed.

America had always thought of Arthur's cooking as lethal, but _this_ was beyond words. Who in their right mind stuck explosives in a "salad" box?

* * *

A/N: Yeah, I found time to update. Sorry if this chapter seemed sort of half-hearted. I apologize, but I've been having an off day, so please don't flame me for it. If you need to express your hatred, do it tomorrow. Hey, it's the longest chapter yet!

Wow, it's going to get below twenty degrees tomorrow… normally, where I live, it doesn't get much colder than the 40's during the winter! 0.0 I mean, I've been in colder, but not where I live _now_! If I don't update tomorrow, I'm either having writer's block or it's too friggin' cold to do anything.

**R&R… please… :3**


	7. Wrong Number

A/N: First of all, forgive me for the really short chapter. The next one will be longer; this was kind of just a filler, with an important little tidbit at the end.

Second of all, I'm sorry it took so long. I've been working on a different Hetalia FF (Céleste Mosaïque) and have found myself kind of preoccupied with that.

Enjoy!

**March 2****nd**

**5:01 p.m.**

"Oh, come now, Alfred. Is that really the best you can do?" Arthur complained, hunched over to catch his breath. He and his American victim stood out on the track, breathless and sweating beyond reason. "I could have you do this out in the summer heat. Your choice."

"Uhgn… I feel like my legs are going to explode…" He began to wheeze, desperate for air. "Iggy, _please_ can we go inside now? We've been at this aimless running for hours."

Arthur's face twisted a bit, concern washing over his demeanor. "You shouldn't be wheezing like that. You _have_ been following my diet plan, haven't you?"

Alfred gulped, breathing normally. In all honesty, the only times that he did follow the plan were when Arthur came to visit. Sure, he had attempted to eat healthier, but the temptations of sweets and grease were simply too much for the naïve American. "O-Of course. Why wouldn't I? I'll admit I've grown fond of sub sandwiches…" Which wasn't a complete fib. He did enjoy a good sandwich every now and then… he just preferred it veggie-less and stuffed full of deli meats instead.

"And, no, slapping a burger onto a long slice of bread does _not_ qualify as a sub sandwich." Arthur crossed his arms over his chest, sweat dripping from his forehead.

"I know that! Honestly, why do you always have to take me for an idiot?" The American withdrew a small inhale, preparing himself for another lap around the devious track on which he stood.

Arthur groaned inwardly, rolling his eyes. "Oh, give it up. You look like you're about to fall unconscious. Just go sit in the shade for a while or something. There's a nice, wide tree over there, just beyond the fence."

Alfred made a beeline for the tree, collapsing beneath its comforting cool. He pulled his shirt over his head, wiping his sweat-caked face with the collar. "Thanks, Iggy. Mind getting us some water?"

"I do mind, as a matter of fact." Arthur's face softened. "But, I'll admit, I am becoming rather parched myself… Fine. Wait here, and put your shirt back on! It's indecent!"

"Oh, come on. We're the only ones out here anyway. It's too hot out… besides, what does it matter to you? You saw me with less on than this when I was a colony!" America draped his shirt back over his head regardless, glasses shifting beneath the movement of cloth. "Since when are you so particular about everything?"

_You were nothing but childish chub back then… It's different now…_ Arthur snorted, fists clenched as he retreated back towards the water fountains with two water bottles tucked under his arms.

Alfred sighed, readjusting his thin-rimmed spectacles. "I wish I knew what's gotten England so easily tense. I mean, yeah, he's a pain in the neck, and he can get irritated for no good reason… but he doesn't just tense up like that out of the blue." He wiped his dripping forehead with the back of his palm, gazing up at the orange glow of the sunset soaring above his head. "He can't just make things easy, can he?"

Arthur returned after a few minutes, identical water bottles in each hand. "Here, just take it," he muttered, tossing his former colony a plastic bottle before taking a seat beside him. The Briton pulled open the nozzle and tilted his head back, allowing the crisp beverage to quench his dehydration. They sat in an uncomfortable silence for what seemed like hours, though only a few minutes.

Leave it to Alfred to break the peaceful calm of the evening. "So, Iggy, how long do you plan on staying this time?"

Arthur hesitated a moment, clutching his bottle tightly. "Well, I was going to leave tomorrow… Is that alright with you?"

"Of course it is! I don't need you to take care of me anymore, you know. I've been a nation for over two hundred years!" Alfred bit back the rest of his thoughts, realizing with utter terror what he had just said.

Arthur's breathing deepened, emerald orbs darkening. "You think I don't know that, you foolish little brat?" His voice rose subconsciously. "Your former guardian, the one who took care of you, who cooked for you, who held you when you dreamt of ghosts and horrors, who refused to shoot at you even though you held no weapon?! You honestly think that I-"

"Arthur, calm down!" Alfred's hands rose up defensively. "I didn't mean anything by it! Honest! You don't have to take it that way!" Oops. Things seemed to be slipping out from behind his tongue that day.

The Briton said nothing, unwavering. His eyes clamped shut, and his chin tucked itself between his knees. "Go do another mile."

"W-What? You aren't serious!"

"Well, if you're going to give me rubbish like that, then you can expect to get what you deserve. Quit complaining and go run."

Alfred groaned, standing with his water bottle tucked into his shorts pocket and strolled leisurely out to the track.

"What do you think you're doing, you bloody git?"

"You never said I had to run it."

********

**March 3****rd**

**3:56 p.m.**

"Ungh… He's driving me crazy, Matthew!" Alfred complained, cell phone clutched tightly in his hand as he pressed it against his ear. "Iggy just won't slacken up. I don't know what his problem has been lately, but it seems like, no matter what I do, he just ends up having my head for everything. Any ideas why?"

"_Amerique~!_ What a pleasure to have you call, for once!" Alfred gulped nervously. He was about ninety-nine percent certain that _wasn't_ Matthew.

"F-Francis? What are you doing at Canada's place?"

"I'm afraid you have the wrong number," Francis remarked, voice smooth. "But, while you're on the other end, why not ask me about _Angleterre's _bizarre behavior? I'm sure I can help you out in some way or another. I _am_ the nation of _l'amour_, am I not?"

Alfred raised in eyebrow in confusion. "Um, sure, France, but… what's lahmore?"

* * *

A/N: Told you this didn't qualify as a legitimate chapter. I just needed a bit more meat before getting into the juicy stuff next chapter. ;D

Midterms are this week, so I don't know if I'll update very often.

I'm serious, the stakes change in the next chapter! After all, Alfred has reverted to asking France for help... That alone should tell you something.

R&R!


	8. Of Knives and Inappropriate Suggestions

**March 3****rd**

**7:32 p.m.**

"W-Wait… W-W-W-What?" Alfred's jaw dropped to the floor, sapphire eyes agape in horror. His grip slackened in surprise, the phone plunging to the plush carpet beneath him. Reality seemed to strike him long enough to bend over and pick the phone back up, though he now clutched it with a vigorously-trembling hand. "C-Could you… Could you repeat that?"

"But of course, _Amerique_! You see, lovemaking is a natural part of life. Think of it as a variation of learning to crawl, or losing your baby teeth-"

"N-Not _that_ part, Francis! What on Earth do you think I plan on doing?! Wait, don't answer that…" He massaged his agonizing forehead with his fingers. _Now I know how Iggy feels… headaches are the worst!_ But, really, who wouldn't have acquired a headache upon conversing with France over the phone for three and a half hours straight?

"Oh, which part then? Do you want to go straight from the lovemaking to the-"

"No, no! I just want… Ungh. Can't you just tell me what to do about Arthur's behavior? Is he trying to imply something that I need to know about?" _Nah, it can't be. I would've noticed if he wanted me to do something. After all, heroes must be observant and interpret whatever necessary._

"Hm… From what you've described, _mon ami_… hold on, when did you say he was going to try and visit again?"

"He said he would probably come back on the first of April."

A rough chuckle escaped the Frenchman's lips, causing Alfred's innards to squirm uncomfortably. "Well, _Amerique_, you know what day that is, don't you? April First, the day for pranks and jokes and foolery all around. It's pretty clear to me what he plans on doing."

_Don't listen to Francis_, an inner voice told him. _He's just an old pervert trying to get you to-_ "What? Should I be worried?"

"Depends. From what I gathered from your information, he wants to _go all out_ with you, my boy." The American said nothing. "He wants to _pull a little trickery of his own_ out of his sleeve. You know, beyond just... er, hello? _Mon ami_?"

"A-Ah, sorry, Francis, I was just a little… startled. I almost dropped my cheeseburger on the floor. That would have been a sickening way to end its life…"

"I see…"

"So, what am I to do about Artie?"

"Erm, well, that depends. If you desire him as well, I would act coy. You know, keep him at bay. Then, when he least expects it, make your move before he gets the chance to do so himself! If you don't feel for him, then… well… hmm. I've never really thought about that kind of situation before…"

"Oh, Francis!" sounded a sharp-yet-quiet voice from the other end. "What are you doing with my phone? Give that back! You shouldn't even be in my house anymore!"

"What?" Alfred's burger plummeted to the floor in disbelief. "Mattie? So I didn't have the wrong number! What is France doing at your place?"

"Hi, Alfred. He's, well… I have a neighbor whose love life has been in complete turmoil, so I thought I'd invite Francis over to assist them."

"Hey, you aren't stuttering anymore! That's a relief…"

"Anyway, about the little problem with Arthur…" The Canadian's voice caught for a moment. "Well, if you don't love him in the same way that he does you, just take him aside and tell him straight out. He may seem heartbroken at first, but it allows you to live your lives the way they were meant to be played out."

"That helps too… thank you, Matthew. I probably ought to hang up now. There's this really awesome movie on tonight, and-"

"Right, right… talk to you some other time, Alfred. Goodbye."

"Goodbye." The American hooked his phone back onto the wall, grimacing at the sight of his beloved dinner upon the carpet. _Might as well clean that up while I watch the movie…_ The TV screen flickered on, and Alfred's fingers flipped the channel up button on the remote until he reached his destination. The words of Matthew and Francis repeated themselves in his head, boring a hole into his mind.

_He wants to go all out with you, my boy…_

_When he least expects it, make your move before he gets the chance to do so himself…_

_If you don't love him in the same way that he does you, just take him aside and tell him straight out…_

_Wait… wait-!_ It wasn't possible… The repetitive motion of Alfred's fingers came to an abrupt halt as a single thought processed in his naïve brain. How could he have been so oblivious? How did he not notice before?

_Oh my God… Arthur loves me…?_

********

**April 1****st**

**11:29 a.m.**

Alfred paced anxiously in front of the main entrance to his estate, all but bearing a hole into the floor beneath his burdened feet. _I mean, he kissed me… How didn't I…?_ "Argh! This is so unsettling!" he shouted aloud, shoving his mouth full with French fries. _What am I going to do when England gets here? What if France is right and he expects me to…? Whoa, whoa… calm down. Heroes don't get worked up over things like this… I'll just listen to Canada's advice and-_

"Alfred F. Jones, those had _better_ not be French fries!" The front door swung open behind the American, startling him to the point of crying out in terror. That voice could belong to no one but the devil in question.

"H-Hey, I-I-Iggy…" _Oh great, I'm acting like Matthew now! Get a grip on yourself, Alfred! You are the United States of America! Breath in, breath out… all you have to tell him is that you aren't interested… that's all… Oh, crap, he can still see the fries!_ "O-Oh, these? Seems you've found me out… I was going to use them to prank you, but since _that's_ obviously not going to happen…" _Good lie, you sly mastermind…_

"Prank? Oh, right, it is that accursed day, isn't it?" Arthur strolled confidently on over to his former colony, reached out for the steak knife at the end of the table, and appropriately stabbed the container in which the fries were held captive. He positioned them on the knife just far enough down to keep them balanced and slid them off the end and into the dumpster. Alfred's voice hitched, emitting a little squeak of fear.

_Wait, what if I decline and he stabs me? Or what if he shoots me, like my waffle? This isn't going to end well, I can tell… _The American rose from his spot in the kitchen chair, face reddening. _But what if I deny and he gets all depressed? He could end up bawling at my feet again…_ "Oh, I don't know what to do!"

"Pardon?" The Briton shot him an odd look, head tilted to the side in confusion. Alfred's stomach twisted up at the sight of this strangely-adorable act and he began to blush a deeper red. "Are you sure you're feeling alright? I can postpone today's events if you aren't feeling up to them."

"No! No! That won't be necessary!" he said hurriedly, waving his hands about in the air. _That last thing I need is to worry over this for another day… Wait, what events are he referring to?! _"I'm fine, really!"

"Alfred, your face is pinker than a-"

"I'm absolutely perfect! I was eating fast food; that alone should tell you that nothing's the matter!" He gave a reassuring laugh, unconvincing to the Englishman. Arthur said nothing more, as pressing the subject further would probably just muddle things up.

"A…Anyway, moving on to the more crucial subject at hand," the Brit persisted, shoving a heavily-bound book into the American's hands. "Read this. It should help you deal with the hunger you may be experiencing. Don't give me that look; this is for your own good." Admittedly, his former colony appeared meagerly thinner, if only by a little, and he smiled successfully at his handiwork.

_Why is he grinning like that? England never smiles… He really is planning something! I have to tell him off._ Alfred reluctantly sat the book down upon the table and returned his attention back to Arthur, whose pleasant smile had fallen. "Look… Can I, uh…?"

"Oh! I almost forgot! When was the last time you weighed yourself?"

"About a month ago…" The American's head shook vigorously, his hands shooting up to his head to yank at his hair in frustration. "But that's not the point! Arthur… I'm being serious this time."

The Englishman froze, paralyzed, as those uncharacteristic words escaped the lips of Alfred F. Jones. Had the fool honestly just said that? Was it even possible, for America to take something seriously besides himself? "I see. Well, then, let's hear it. What's been troubling you?"

Alfred inhaled sharply, sweat pouring profusely from the back of his neck. _Alright, Hero. Now's your chance. Just tell it to him straight; you aren't interested in any sick sort of relationship he's planning. Just say it… Say it… Why won't the words come out?!_ He stood there in silence, azure stare gazing blankly ahead. _Why is it so damn hard? I'm a hero; heroes can overcome anything! No obstacle is too great for me… I've managed to get by everything that's been thrown at me over the years, so why can't I just tell him the truth? I'm not interested. I'm _not_ interested. I'm not-_

"Alfred? Is everything all right? You look as if you have just seen a ghost." Arthur's head tilted to the side ever-so-slightly again, eyebrows knitted together and mouth pressed into a frown.

"I can't do this!" he erupted, crazed eyes meeting Arthur's in his frenzy. The American's hands lashed out, snatching his guest by the shoulders.

"America, what's wrong with you? You're acting incredibly pecu-" The concerned sentence never completed its point as a pair of awkward lips captured his in an anxious kiss. The two stood at arms' length apart, the host lurching forward to reach the older nation's mouth. Both appeared completely frazzled, eyes wide and paranoid breaths darting from the gap where they had missed contact. It wasn't, by any means, what one would consider to be a normal kiss, but with regards to their rocky relationship, it was far more than anyone would have expected.

Alfred tore himself away, clutching his wild heart in utter disbelief. Briton and American locked eyes questioningly, almost threateningly, daring the other to advance or cower away. "I-I… That wasn't what was meant to happen! I don't care what you think of me, honest! Just don't… I can't _do anything_ with you tonight!"

Arthur blinked once, twice, before finally comprehending what it was that his former colony was trying t imply. "Wait… What did you think I was going to be doing tonight? My God, you thought I was bloody going to-" His palm met his forehead in incredulity, gaze averting to the floor. "Where on Earth did you get an idea like that? Hold on, don't answer that… Francis?"

Alfred gave a trembling nod, rubbing the nape of his neck in embarrassment. "I dunno… I was going to tell you off, but something just came over me! I'm sorry, really, I shouldn't have-" He groaned inwardly. "Iggy, what are you doing? Don't call France, it's not entirely his fault."

"Well, I doubt you came up with an absurd idea like that on your own. Hell if I just let him get away with that." His voice began to trail off, his head facing the carpet below his feet as he reluctantly placed the phone back on the receiver. "Hey, Alfred? Just… Just answer me this. Did you… did you really mean it?"

"M-Mean what?"

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about, you imbecile." All malice had fled from his voice as he advanced a single step towards his flustered acquaintance. "Did that kiss really mean nothing to you?"

Promptly, Alfred took his turn to stare at the flooring, finding it much more intricate than the fear in his former guardian's eyes. "I-I… Well, I…" Face still directed at the carpet, his eyes peered up from behind his thin-rimmed glasses. "I don't know… I don't know anything about any of this anymore. I'm a hero, for Pete's sake, I shouldn't be so clueless about everything! It's driving me crazy!"

"Even heroes can need a little convincing…" Arthur murmured, closing the nonexistent gap that separated the two. Lips met lips in a cautious kiss, slow and anxious and gentle. The two remained like that for a moment, hearts rebounding rapidly off of the other's chest, before Arthur broke away to mutter something.

"What was that?" Alfred chided, idiotic smile returning to his tomato-shaded face.

"I said that this doesn't mean you're getting off easily, you sodding git. I'm just going to go harder on you with the workouts and the cooking."

"I didn't expect this to distract you too much from your duties. Can I ask for something before you begin my misery?"

"Hn?"

"Do you want to prank Francis before it gets too late? It is April First, after all…"

Arthur smirked, clutching his cell phone devilishly in his fingers. "Wouldn't miss a golden opportunity such as this."

* * *

A/N: At long last, they have smooched! Yes!

R&R. There are probably only going to be a few more chapters after this, so let's end this on a good note.

Also, check out my other fic, **Céleste Mosaïque**. I made Matthew much more likeable in that story, as he sort of annoyed me in this one… It's AU, though. I'm trying to get as many reviews as possible, so please go check it out!


	9. Public Displays of Affection?

**June 5****th**

**1:01 p.m.**

"So… remind me again what we're out here looking for?" Alfred asked distractedly, cleaning his glasses with the bottom lip of his shirt. Arthur strolled leisurely beside him, sagging cloth bag dangling limply from the Brit's hands. Included in its varied contents were multiple food items of nutritional value; vegetables, fruits, and different types of grains.

"You just asked me that five minutes ago, you idiot," he scolded, halting upon noticing another stand of food. "The indoor marketplace is the best place to find this specific type of rice. It has been rumored to do incredulous things for your health. With your eating habits, you'll need multiple bags."

Alfred snorted, staring off ahead at a group of American children mingling about off in the fish aisle. Disregarding them and a few families scattered throughout the store, the marketplace was entirely deserted. It was nothing short of peculiar, to say the least, considering the fact that it was a Sunday afternoon. Not that it bothered the two nations all that much.

The American's stomach gave a stubborn grumble. "Hey, Iggy? Can we get some ice cream or something? I'm starving!"

"How is that even possible? We ate lunch an hour ago!" Arthur allowed an exasperated sigh escape his lips before coming to a halt in front of his former colony. "No ice cream. It's much too fattening, and that's the last thing you need… However, I may be able to be convinced into some frozen custard. With what I put you through the last time I was here, you deserve something a little sweet… But don't you go and order the largest thing on the menu. And you're paying."

"But my economy is crashing!"

"You idiot, the_ world's_ economy is starting to crash. If you have to eat something sugary and artificial, you can buy it with your own money." Reluctantly, the Briton followed in pursuit after Alfred, who had already started striding over to the shop next door. "Don't just walk out like that! We have to pay, or have you forgotten?" He sighed once more, head throbbing. "Just give me the blasted money and I'll pay for our things. Get me a vanilla cone." He watched America toss him his wallet and disappear behind the concealing doors of the marketplace.

_Idiot, _England thought, a gentle smile gracing his features as he strolled over to the nearest line, though each check-out lane was empty as the store. He fingered the inner pocket of the wallet, snatching about thirty dollars and paying the lady behind the conveyer belt. The Englishman whisked his bag of food from the rotating device and headed out the door, slipping it neatly up his arm to rest on his wrist.

"I _said_ that I want two vanilla cones!" Alfred persisted, smacking down a few dollar bills upon the windowsill of the frozen yogurt shop.

"Would you like to try our frozen chocolate crunch in a cup? Add whip cream and a cherry for only a dollar more!" The young man behind the counter smiled in a welcoming fashion, almost too sickeningly-sweet for Arthur's tastes.

The Briton furrowed his thick eyebrows, clenched his fists into tight balls, and stormed over to the two bickering men, emerald eyes ablaze. "Look, simpleton. My friend here wants two blooming vanilla cones, and he had better bloody get them! Do you understand what I am saying?"

"Whoa, calm down, dude. Don't need to get all British on me..." The man behind the counter raised his hands in defense, whisking two sugar cones from the counter top behind him and promptly plopping two scoops of vanilla on each. Arthur stood there, mouth agape in sheer disbelief. How _dare_ that infuriating man! The Englishman huffed, snatching his cone from the man's hand before spinning on his heal and trudging away.

Alfred rolled his eyes, retrieving his own cone from the man and rushing after his former guardian. "Aw, come on Iggy. Chill out; he was out of line, but he didn't mean anything by that. There's nothing wrong with being British." _Well, except for the fact that they have no taste in decent food,_ he thought, but thought better of saying it aloud.

"I know that!" Arthur's face flushed. "It's just the fact that he'd actually- Wha-what?! What the hell do you think you're doing!" The Brit's cheeks reddened a deeper scarlet as Alfred brought a lanky arm around his waist, pressing their sides together affectionately. Arthur's breathing rate skyrocketed, arms shooing the American away in embarrassment, though immediately regretting the action as he felt the familiar warmth leave his torso.

"What? This is nothing compared to the kiss a few months ago. We haven't really... you know, done anything since, so..." Alfred's voice trailed off as he began running his tongue along the outer edge of the top scoop of his ice cream. "What's so wrong with being emotional with me, huh?"

"Public displays of affection are rude in the first place. Considering the facts that we're both nations and men, for that matter, how do you think everyone else would react?" Arthur questioned, voice somewhat shaky due to the squeamish feeling he acquired upon watching Alfred lick the cone senselessly.

Alfred finished off the top scoop of ice cream, moving on to the second glop of vanilla. "Oh, come on, Iggy. Live a little! What does it matter if other people see us?"

"Because it's just... it's not-" He felt a strange, uncomfortable loss of words. Biting the outer edge of his flaky cone clean off, the Briton furrowed his brows and shut his eyes, headache forming in the core of his mind. "Alfred, just imagine these people as Francis. Or Kiku, or Matthew! What would _they_ think of this?"

"Well, I'd imagine Kiku would probably have no verbal response. Mattie would probably splutter like he did last time and back away in disbelief before accepting the fact that we were lovers... and I think Francis would be insistent on asking and persuading us about sex." His tone was casual and monotone, as if he had just spoken a truly routine fact of life.

"Exactly! Do you really want them to-"

"Oh, relax, Iggy. They aren't here anyway..." Alfred maneuvered his lips from the cone down to Arthur's forehead, kissing him teasingly. "You worry too much."

"S-Stop that! What did I just say?"

The American tentatively brushed his lips down Arthur's face, trailing taunting kisses upon his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. "You aren't very convincing." He guffawed suddenly, pulling away to readjust his glasses. "Oh, you should have seen your face! You're really serious about the whole "no public displays of affection" thing, aren't you?"

"Of course I am!" Arthur shoved Alfred's shoulder disapprovingly before chomping down once more upon his cone. "Look around, America. Everyone here... they are no different than Matthew, Kiku, or Francis. Please, just... refrain from any affection for now."

"Well..." Alfred took his last bite of ice cream. "I guess I won't do anything like that in front of the other nations. But..." He brought his hand forward, intertwining his fingers with Arthur's. "I can't agree to absolutely none in public. I mean, that's just no fun."

"No fun?" Xepherya reappeared atop the American's ice cream cone, stealing a lick before flying up to Alfred's shoulder. "I like this guy. He knows that lvoe is nothing but senseless fun and pleasure."

"What?! You're back again? Why is it that you only come during these instances? Are you that hellbent on inducing your French-style thoughts?" Arthur pointed an accusing finger at his former colony's shoulder, receiving a few bewildered and rather fearful glances from other American civilians.

"Hrm? Is there something on my...?" Alfred's mind clicked (for once) and he understood the situation. He laughed again, brushing off his shoulder. "What, is my jacket wrinkled again? Honestly, who know you English were all so OCD?" Or, maybe he hadn't quite gotten the hint after all.

Xepherya came tumbling down from his shoulder, plunging down into the dark depths of Arthur's grocery bag. "Hey, let me out! I didn't even do anything this time! I could have made you snog him in public... and I'll do it next time, if you don't let me free!"

"You'll do it now if I let you go. Just take some time to relax in there. We're almost back to his house," Arthur murmured, snickering. He finished off his cone at last, wiping his sticky finers clean on a handkerchief in his pocket. They continued the rest of the walk to the Jones estate in near silence; the Englishman relishing in the blissful moment of peace, and the American fidgeting uncomfortably in what he considered to be an awkward quiet.

After about five more minutes of walking, they approached the front door. Alfred dug around in his pocket, fingering around for the key. He plucked it out and unlocked the door, entering rather rudely in front of his guest. He seemed... impatient for something, in Arthur's eyes, as if the American was on a tight schedule or something along those lines. "Alfred... Is everything alright?"

Alfred said nothing, but spun on his heel and faced the Brit, a gleam in his oceanic eyes that gave Arhtur an unnerving feeling. "Alfred...? America? What are you-" In a split-second, his host had him gathered in his finely-toned arms and kissed him vigorously on the lips, mouth moving rhythmically with his guest's in a strong relief. Arthur kissed him back, of course, right hand clutching at the younger man's shirt collar. The Englishman felt compelled to deepen the motion, though resisted the urge as he felt the American begin to pull away.

Timidly, Alfred backed up for a moment, slightly flushed. "Th-Thanks, Artie..."

"For what? Accepting you?"

"Nah. You kissed me in broad daylight."

"What are you talking about? We're in the privacy of your own home... aren't we...?" Arthur cast a murderous, questioning glance in the other's direction.

Alfred smirked, flashing him a wide grin. "Well, yeah, but the window's open, and the President is in the other room finishing some paperwork."

Arthur could have sworn his heart stopped in that moment. "You mean that he could have walked in and-? You... you insufferable, agitating, careless-"

"Git," Alfred finished for his guest. "I know. You remind me every time." He neared the other man once more and planted one last kiss on his lips, the tastes of vanilla intermixing between the two before the host retreated into his office to meet with the ruler of his country.

* * *

A/N: This seemed somewhat filler-ish. There will likely be two more chapters to this story before its end. Oh, so sad that it must conclude soon. But, hey, I've got Celeste Mosaique going right now, as well as a parody about Romano coming soon. Keep reading!

**Review, please!**


	10. The Revised Proposition

**July 5****th**

**2:32 p.m.**

"You good-for-nothing, insufferable git!" Arthur huffed, fingers clenched menacingly in fists at his sides as he stormed from Alfred's kitchen. "I can't believe you would do a bloody thing like that! Actually, no, I_ can_ believe it, but I thought you were at least decent enough to stay away from it when I was around!"

"What are you talking about, Iggy?" Alfred questioned, expression twisted into that of a dumbfounded fool… which, in the Briton's eyes, he was exactly that. The American found himself completely perplexed at the sudden outburst on his former guardian's part; one moment the two had been engaged in a passionate lip-lock, and the next thing Alfred knew, Arthur had shoved him away in pure disbelief.

Said Englishman crossed his arms, scowling with his thick eyebrows furrowed in a way that Alfred found strangely attractive. "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about! Are you honestly going to deny the fact that you ate fast food before my arrival? Don't even attempt to defend yourself; I could taste it on you." Truth be told, Arthur had made the mistake of arriving on this particular day as opposed to the day previous, and his former colony had been finding it difficult to forgive the older nation. To cope with such discomfort, Alfred had treated himself to a supersized deluxe hamburger with a large order of fries and a rather tall cola.

"W-Well, you could have at least come to my birthday party!" he snapped back, though deep within he felt an all-too-familiar sense of defeat; Arthur had won defeat from the moment he entered the estate. "I mean, I know it brings back painful memories, but-"

Arthur brought up a hand, silencing the younger man before glaring up from beneath his short blonde bangs. "_Painful memories_? You ran off like a rebellious fool and left me sobbing in the rain! You tore my pride and my only company away from me within the course of a decade… after all, I could tell many years before our first battle that you weren't happy. I was just too ignorant to even take into consideration that you would turn your back on me!" He exhaled sharply before whirling around and maneuvering further back, into the guest bedroom and slamming the door behind him in frustration.

_I don't believe him_! Arthur gritted his teeth together, laying flat on his stomach atop the comforting embrace of the mattress._ He doesn't even have the decency to refrain from fast food long enough for me to meet with him for a day per month. _"What was I thinking when I created that blasted diet plan in the first place?"

"You were subconsciously trying to come up with a scheme to spend more time with him," Xepherya muttered monotonously, observing her palm in boredom as she sat perched atop the dresser across the room. "Don't try denying it; you've been head over heels for that man for how many years now?"

"You and I both know that wasn't my motive," Arthur retorted, holding his head in his palm as his migraine returned. "Ugh, I swear, I get more headaches over on this half of the globe than in my own country!"

"That's because you don't chill out enough to just enjoy the time you spend here. Instead, you're much too busy trying to pester his to make yourself feel like you still have a controlling hand over him."

"I do not. Now I suggest you keep quiet before I-"

"Admit it, Arthur Kirkland, you have a superiority complex!"

"Shut up for once!" The Brit tossed a feather pillow in her direction half-heartedly. Thankfully for the pixie, his aim was off entirely and instead knocked against a laundry basket in the corner of the room, forcing it to the ground and its contents onto the carpet floor. "Oh, great. First the thing with Alfred, and now this! You know, my life's been even more hellish since your arrival, Xepherya."

"You haven't anyone to blame but yourself." And with those final words, she dissolved into the atmosphere for what would probably be another few hours.

_Bloomin' pixies… One of the more aggravating creatures of this realm, but there's nothing that can be done._ Arthur released a menalcholy sigh, forcing himself upright to refill the laundry basket, which he proceeded to stand upright again. _Bloody hell, Alfred! These clothes reek! How long has it been since you've done laundry in this room? What a mess…_ He reluctantly scooped up the various items of apparel into his arms and plopped them down into the wooden basket, shoving them to the bottom before picking up one last t-shirt from the floor.

_Hn? What's this?_ Arthur wondered, removing the shirt from its spot on the carpet to reveal a small, wooden toy of some sort from beneath its cloth covering. From within his lungs, a deep exhale welled up and out of his lips as he blew dust from the figure, taking another glance at it before feeling his breath hitch. Though the hand-painted reds had begun to chip and the wood on the face had started to splinter, it was unmistakably one of the soldiers given as a gift to his former colony all of those years ago. Nostalgia hit him like a cold stone to the face, the familiarity of the smooth carvings and custom facial appearance casting a saddened shadow over his heart. He felt the pressure in his chest begin to weigh him down considerably as a single tear threatened to plummet from the corner of his emerald eye. He swallowed the feelings back down in shame and cleared his throat, frown returning to his pained face. "Hmph. I never knew Alfred was such a packrat, keeping something as useless as this old thing…"

"Hey, you found the missing general!" Alfred exclaimed, peering from the slightly ajar door with a gleam of happiness shimmering in his oceanic eyes. I've been looking for that one for years! You mean he was in the hamper the entire time?"

Arthur remained silent, stiffening his posture in distaste. Alfred's smile fell, if only for a brief second, as he re-comprehended what Arthur had spoken aloud previously. "Oh, I have more, Iggy. He's not alone, you know. I… I've kept many things from back in my colonial days. It's just so hard to throw them out, you know? Each object brings back the memories that I'd like to remember…"

"What, you're really that grateful for these poorly crafted old things? I could very easily make you better soldiers nowadays." Arthur averted his eyes, unwilling to meet the unreadable eyes of his former colony.

"I like the soldiers better this way. It gives them a sort of… authenticity, I guess. And of course I was grateful; I used to play with them constantly when I was a colony."

"If you were so happy," Arthur began, rubbing his arm with the opposite hand as his eyes blazed with a sudden anger. "Then why didn't you stay, hm? If you really enjoyed my company and my gifts so much, then why did you leave me behind?"

"I had no choice, Arthur," Alfred muttered. "You and your king were taxing my people senseless. I had to set things straight, and it was time for me to live my own life. Sometimes, I _do_ miss those days, back when I could eat your cooking without spewing. But, other times, I'm more than thankful that things turned out the way they did. I realize you've suffered through a lot since then, but don't you think it was all for the better?"

"For the better?!" he challenged, taking a furious step forward. "_For the better?! _I've been living in your shadow ever since you left! I've been-"

"Yes, that's true. But do you think either of us would be in this type of relationship if things had turned out differently? Or do you think the world itself would be the same? We could have lost the World Wars… Arthur, either of us and those around us could have had their nations obliterated! Please, don't fight me on this. That was well over two centuries ago… I don't want to live in the past. I rather like it here in the present," he added, toning his voice in a faulty British accent as a smile reappeared on his face. "Care to join me on twenty-first century Earth?"

"You're certainly not very convincing…" Arthur muttered, but took Alfred's hand all the same. "I'll never be able to forget what happened, you know. But… regardless, I think I can enjoy the present while I can. I've already seen far more than you have; I don't need any more time to feel as if it were wasted. Still, though…" He readjusted the collar on the American's shirt, allowing his hands to linger there for a moment. "We need to do something about this fast food issue. I have a new proposition for you, Alfred… if you don't mind. If you _do_ mind, it doesn't matter anyway, so I would suggest hearing me out."

"Okay, shoot. A-And that_ is_ a figure of speech; I don't want you to really shoot me. You've already shot my breakfast once, and I don't fancy seeing myself on the other end of the room instead of my fork." This received a chuckle from both nations until Arthur felt compelled to continue.

"Well, my efforts have obviously been useless, so I would like to personally call off the resolution. However…" His emerald eyes gleamed with a mischievous spark. "I do have a smaller deal to make with you. If you can manage to lose ten pounds by the next New Year's world meeting, I'll give you anything you want. If you can't accomplish this, you'll do for me whatever I want. Deal?"

"I think that can be arranged." Alfred returned the smirk, following his guest back into the family room. "What do you think the reward should be, or should it be whatever we want at the time being?"

"It might as well be decided on that particular day. But nothing_ too_ severe; it should be an eye for an eye, after all."

"A pound for a pound?" Alfred asked, sitting beside Arthur on the sofa.

"O-Oh, right then. How much money would you like?"

"Hn?"

"You said you wanted a pound for a pound. I can only assume that you mean that you want at least one pound for every pound lost… or perhaps you wish to increase the value of one of your pounds?"

"What are you going on about?" He sat there in negligent confusion for a brief moment before his face lit up in understanding. "Oh, you thought I meant your currency! No, no… I don't want your money; at least, I don't think so. I meant it as a figure of speech… like yours. Want some biscuits while we're at it?"

Arthur nudged him playfully in the shoulder, smirking as he held out a hand, placing the solider in his own palm. "Deal?"

"Deal," Alfred replied gently, shaking the hand welcomingly as they both held the figure in their grasps.

* * *

A/N: One more chapter left! Oh, how shall it end? I can tell you this much:

There will be humor.

There will be some lovin'.

There will be France.

'Nuff said. The more reviews I get, the happier it makes me. The happier I am, the more likely it is that I will type up the final chapter quickly. Keep reviewing, please!

And, upon the completion of this story, I will begin another multi-chapter fic, as I said before. Revolving around Romano. A parody. However, I cannot tell you what it will be a parody of quite yet. And don't forget to check out my AU, Celeste Mosaique.

Lore-chan out.


	11. An Eye for an Eye?

A/N: Many of the events of this chapter occurred because of requests from fans. You wanted humor, you wanted intimacy, you wanted more Matthew and a bit more Francis… you got it.

The finale. Enjoy.

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**January 1****st**

**4:53 p.m.**

"I hereby call this meeting dismissed!" Ludwig proclaimed, normally neatly-combed hair slightly disheveled as he struggled to be heard above the bumbling noises of the other countries. Throwing his papers up in exasperated defeat, the German stood from his spot in the chair and strode out the door, soon followed by the other nations of the world. Before long, the only remaining beings in the room were the ever arguing Alfred and Arthur, as well as a certain Canadian fellow. Francis leaned against the doorframe, impatiently awaiting the arrival of Matthew to his side.

"See? I went to the doctor the other day, and I weighed in at ten pounds less, just like you said!" Alfred snickered, punching a fist rather flamboyantly in the air in success. Victory was his against the Briton, yet again.

Arthur just stared dumbfounded at the sheet of paper in his hands. Admittedly, although the corner was wrinkled and there was a coffee stain along the bottom edge, the papers checked out just as the American had said. Finally, he crumpled the paper and gritted his teeth in humiliation, emerald eyes blazing. "Fine, then. What is it you want?"

"Hmm…" Alfred began, turning to his brother. "What do you think, Mattie?"

"W-Well, I'm not entirely sure. I mean, we don't exactly have the same priorities, Alfred…" Matthew's face lit up suddenly as he fingered around in his bag. "Oh! I almost forgot. I brought you a slice of homemade pie, to thank you for the help with the resolution. Both Francis and I thank you."

The Canadian withdrew a container from the sack, removing the lid and sliding the apple pie slice onto a paper plate. "I knew how much you liked apple pie, so I thought I would bring you a piece, since I ate the rest back at home…"

"Hmph. Apple pie originated in England…" Arthur murmured under his breath in a very Korea-esque fashion.

"Apple pie might have been invented in England," Alfred said, thanking Matthew before returning his attention to the Englishman. "But Americans perfected it."

Matthew coughed into his fist, waving a cheery goodbye before taking off, running out the door with Francis directly behind him. The last thing the Canadian wanted was to get involved in any more spats exchanged between the two.

"Perfected it? I don't think anyone from the United States can _perfect _anything… well, except maybe obesity." Ouch. That stung.

Not that Alfred took any notice of such a cruel remark. He just removed a plastic fork from his pocket (did he carry one with him at all times?) and stabbed rather mercilessly at the point of the slice, indulging in the sweet scents brought to his nostrils from the delightful dessert. "We were the first to nearly perfect space travel. We also perfected the hamburger, and the light bulb, and-"

"Oh, shut up. I'm sure American-style apple pie is no better than any English dessert." Arthur crossed his arms, eyeing the slice of the treat with sudden desire. He honestly hadn't eaten apple pie in… well, what was probably fifty years, at least. To say that it made his mouth salivate and his stomach groan in food-lust was an understatement.

Alfred took notice of such glances and flashed the Brit a wide grin. "Want a bite?" Before awaiting a reply of any sort, he cut into the pie and stuck the bite on the end of the fork, offering it out to his companion.

"Of course not, you idiot. Why would I want something American to ruin my tastes? The farther away I am from that filth, the better off my stomach will be." Arthur's pride swelled up inside of him, a fault of his that never seemed to die down.

The American said nothing, but continued to smile as he shoved the fork forward, pie bite and all, into the Englishman's mouth, something done by the older nation to the younger nation many times before. Arthur grumbled in protest, but accepted the bite regardless and scraped the pie from the end of the fork with his teeth to roll loosely in his mouth. He chewed briefly, secretly indulging in the blend of sharp cinnamon and tart apples. The buttery crust melted wondrously in his mouth as he swallowed the food down, sighing softly in contention at his finally-silent stomach.

"Er… not bad," he said with a grunt, tugging uncomfortably at the collar of his shirt.

"Oh come on, Iggy. I saw that look on your face!" Alfred placed the remainder of the pie on the table beside them, whirling around to face his acquaintance once more. "You liked that more than you've been letting on."

"Hurry up and decide what you want for your reward," Arthur said, a bit squeamish about the mischievous gleam in the American's azure eyes.

"Don't change the subject! But… all the same, I should decide what I want, shouldn't I?" Alfred bit his lip, deeply concentrating with what little mind power her contained. "Hrm… I don't know. I probably should have thought this through before I came here, huh?"

"You think?"

"What would you have asked from me, had I lost?" Alfred asked, genuinely confused.

Arthur could sense his cheeks reddening by the second. "W-Well, I wasn't entirely sure either, but… I did have something in mind, but it's completely unorthodox, and-"

"Oh, come on, Iggy! Just spit it out, already!"

The Brit said nothing, biting his lip in turn as a deeper embarrassment clouded his mind. Indeed, he _had_ had something in mind, but how on earth was he to explain his actions and reasoning to this naïve nation? It was absolutely absurd! "Um…" He was at an honest loss for words. The two stood in the meeting room, completely unresponsive.

At long last, after what seemed like an eternity, Alfred snatched Arthur by the wrist, whirling him around to face him. Arthur cast him a flabbergasted look, though not one of rejection, as the American brought their bodies closely together as he had done a few times before. Usually this implied that he wanted to be affectionate, but was either too bashful or too lazy to actually do anything. In fact, _most _of the time it meant he was too lazy. Yet, this time, the Briton found it hard to read his former colony's expression, as it was a look he had yet to see on Alfred's face. Finally, Alfred sighed and smiled again, face inching nearer Arthur's as a comparably thinner eyebrow was raised in question. "You've really let your guard down over the years, you know that?"

Arthur said nothing, a bit puzzled at such a statement, though he assumed that Alfred was referring to the fact that the Englishman had long given up on trying to push the American away. He shifted his eyes warily left and right, almost anticipating a hidden camera or for another nation to burst from the walls, before resting his forehead gently against Alfred's chin, taking comfort in the embrace. Being two separate countries who bickered on a regular basis, finding time for affection had become near impossible, so he cherished moments such as these where there was peace and nothing more. "What are you implying?"

"I'm implying that the doctor's note was a phony."

Arthur's mouth dropped agape, eyes widening in a dumbstruck daze. Under normal circumstances, he would have beaten the younger nation senselessly; however, in the current situation, he found too much comfort in the current position and decided to let it slide… almost. "You know, that means that _you_ owe _me_ a favor, now."

"And you still haven't told me what you wanted, yet." Alfred grinned, if not somewhat slyly.

The Brit looked away for the briefest moment before once again gazing up into those pools of blue hidden behind thin-rimmed spectacles. "I think you can figure that out on your own." He raised his head slightly, brushing his lips mockingly against Alfred's.

"W-wait, what are you-"

Some enthralling force from within drove Arthur to madness. Something from his soul had possessed him to do what he had done, he was sure of it. But, in the heat of the moment, Arthur had, indeed, pressed his lips against the younger nation's in a full, passion-infused kiss. Alfred stood perplexed for a brief moment, but eventually just grinned against his former guardian's mouth and returned the favor, head tilting slightly to increase the pleasure it transmitted through his body. The Briton enveloped his arms around Alfred's neck, rhythmically moving his lips in turn with his lover's. Ever-so-reluctantly, the older nation flicked out his tongue, lightly running it against the corner of Alfred's mouth, but instantly regretted the decision as his pulse increased, sending a jolt downward to spread throughout his whole form.

Alfred inhaled sharply in surprise, pulling back about a millimeter, just enough to whisper, "I thought you were against this in public?"

"We're not in public, you moron…" Arthur replied, closing the gap between them yet again. Unwillingly, he withdrew his tongue from his mouth again, determination swelling within, though found himself instead meeting Alfred's own tongue mid-way. By this point, the pie had been virtually forgotten, and now sat alone beside Arthur's figure, which had managed to make its way upon the table as Alfred towered over his sitting form, finally gaining victory over the Brit's mouth and claiming the tongue inside for his own. Exchanged between the two was the familiar flavor of apples, possibly Macintosh, and the comforting taste of cinnamon accompanied by the doughy savor of the crust.

Arthur pulled away again after a moment of bliss, eyebrows furrowed in slight irritation. "And what makes _you_ the man in this relationship?"

Alfred smiled, resting his head on the shorter nation's shoulder. "I'm the hero. And the hero's always supposed to come out _on top_."

Upon those spoken words, a single flash flickered from the doorframe, which had mistakenly been left wide open, and who would Alfred and Arthur find to be standing there but Matthew, holding an old-fashioned camera with a guilty look plastered on his face. American and Englishman instantly scooted away from each other, Arthur ready to murder and Alfred ready to reclaim his apple pie, nearly oblivious to what harm could come from a single photo.

"Matthew… Matthew Williams!" Arthur shouted, storming after the Canadian in incredulity. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!"

"F-F-Francis gave me another resolution for this year…" Matthew stuttered, retreating in fear for his own life. "I didn't mean anything by it, really!" With that, he fled down the hall, much quicker than the Brit had anticipated. Arthur turned back to Alfred for a brief moment.

"We'll discuss this "on top" thing later, idiotic git."

********

Ah, so things would never truly settle down between them. Matthew and Francis would eventually end their partnership in toiling with the lives of others (most of the time). Alfred and Arthur would continue bickering for the majority of their lives, and their secret would remain exactly that to most of the nations of the world. Only on special occasions would they visit from time to time again, and usually quarrel about many controversial topics before behaving in an affectionate manner. Following this was generally more arguing before the guest would huff and leave, but not without saying goodbye the _proper_ way.

"Whatever, I can't take your constant blabbering about nonsense any longer. We'll discuss this at the next G8 meeting," Arthur had said once, arms crossed as he made his way to the open front door of the Jones estate.

Alfred approached him, clasping him on the shoulder. "Right, then. Just remember what I said; a hero _will _save our world from global warming someday, I just know it!"

"That's absurd…" Arthur muttered, brushing away the American's hand stubbornly before leaning up for a chaste kiss, lacking in the passion and intimacy of the lip-locking earlier in the day. "We'll just see about that."

"What, is that a bet you're trying to make?"

"Hm?" Arthur would just smile and shake his head in disapproval. "Well, if you _really _want to make one. We'll see how global warming affects us in the end."

"And…? What are you expecting from me if I lose… which won't happen."

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see, then." Arthur smirked devilishly before exiting out the door and waving to Alfred, who stood in the doorway to see his former guardian off.

"Heh. An eye for an eye…?"

Arthur would then shake his head once more, responding in the way that all of their deals seemed to end. Five simple words, though they stood for so much more.

"…A pound for a pound."

**The End**

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A/N: Completion!

I would like to thank everyone who has followed me through my first attempted (as well as my first completed) sequel to any story of mine. Love you all to death! w

Satisfying enough? Detestable? Let me know your inside thoughts through review!


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